


To Fall and to Fly

by Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alastair Being an Asshole (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Awesome Sam Winchester, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, Castiel Saves Dean Winchester From Hell, Dragon Castiel (Supernatural), Dragons, Enemies to Lovers, Fanart by three Very Talented artists :), Fear of Flying, Flying, Gentle Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Mean Castiel (Supernatural), Mean Dean Winchester, Outcast Castiel (Supernatural), Prince Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Swearing, Sweet Castiel (Supernatural), Sweet Dean Winchester, Torture, Tortured Dean Winchester, War, but only in the first half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 87,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound/pseuds/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound
Summary: Dean Winchester, the Crown Prince of Lawrence, is going to die. He has killed many dragons in his lifetime, but the final Prince of Hell, Alastair, has managed to capture him. The human prince has resigned himself to death in Alastair's cave, to the rest of his short life being filled with blood and agony.One day, however, another dragon appears.Dragon Castiel only wants to end the War on Syphon, the bloody conflict between dragons and humans that has been going on for centuries. He has lost many of his friends and brothers to said war, and he hopes that he will finally be accepted by his fellow dragons if he manages to end it. He rescues Dean Winchester simply because he knows that the only way to stop the war is to work with the other side. Dean Winchester is a legendary warrior, even among dragons, and Castiel hopes to help him kill the final Prince of Hell.He does not, however, account for how attractive Dean is. Nor how much Dean makes him smile. With time running out and the death tally rising higher and higher, there is absolutely no time to fall in love with the enemy.At least, that's what Castiel keeps telling himself.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 601
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I AM NOT DEAD! I HAVE EMEEERRRGED! And, I have a fun story for you. ;)
> 
> Okay, disclaimer: I am a huge nerd when it comes to dragons. THE ONLY REASON I watched Game of Thrones was for the dragons. I also watched How to Train Your Dragon for the same reason. I could talk FOR HOURS about how awesome they are, and the only semblance of talent I have in drawing goes toward my leather-winged friends.
> 
> Why is that important? Well, this entire story was based on my need to write a dragon story, and, well... yeah. :) I could totally geek out about them all day, but I have to keep this concise. The most important thing I can tell you is that I absolutely love dragons, and you will see that here.
> 
> SOME WORLDBUILDING: Dragons and humans aren't friends! Humans have banded together to fight the dragons. Dragons also fight humans, and they do so in garrisons, which are basically just groups of dragons that go wreck stuff together. Dragons are slightly magical (though magic isn't super important in this story), so when they shift into their human form they still have the clothes on that they had before. Also, when in human form, they have a smaller version of their wings sprouting from their backs (think angels, but dragon wings).
> 
> I believe that's all. I'm so excited to finally post this story (it took me WAY too long to write), and even more excited for you to read it. So I'll stop babbling now and let you do that. I hope you enjoy! ;)

**One**

In nearly all aspects of human mythology, Hell was described as a fiery pit of blood and agony. The smell of smoke and ash was a common occurrence, and Satan was depicted as a red dude with a pitchfork and horns.

Dean Winchester was now completely sure that all of the people who had ever come up with a description of Hell had never actually been there.

Hell was dark, for one. No fire to be seen. No eerie, threatening red glow. Just the stench of rotting flesh and sulfur, and the oppressive blackness that seemed to close in from all sides, resting like a physical weight on Dean’s chest. Instead of rock and flames, there were piles and piles of gold and silver, precious metal long since rusted, the wealth of a thousand kingdoms hoarded for hundreds of years until it was barely recognizable. There were bones, too. The remnants of past victims, some of them fresh, some of them centuries old.

The Devil, too, was different.

He came to Dean in the form of a tall, skinny man with slate gray eyes and a cruel smile that sent shivers down Dean’s spine every time. He had arching, ash-gray wings sprouting from his shoulder-blades, and he wielded a knife like the shape of a man was his main form.

It wasn’t. Dean had seen the enormous winged lizard he turned into. It was enough to give him nightmares for days. Not that Dean could tell when it was day and night here, of course. The passage of time in this cave was a mystery to him.

He knew that it had been months. The light stubble he’d had before this whole nightmare had started had turned into a full-on beard, his usually-cropped hair dropping to shoulder-length. Dean’s limbs, which had once been packed with smooth muscle, were now wasted and skeletal. His skin had turned ghost-white and pale, a product of his not seeing the sun since he’d been thrown into this hellhole.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about his eyes deteriorating. It wasn’talways dark in the cave. When Alastair tortured him, he liked to light a torch to see by, sometimes with his own fire.

Dean was supposed to be here for two years.

_Twenty-four months, Dean Winchester_ , Alastair had hissed at him that first day. _Two years. One each, to pay for my brothers’ deaths._

Dean Winchester had killed two of the three Princes of Hell.

Azazel, who had murdered Dean’s mother all those years ago, was the eldest. Asmodeus, whom Dean had killed with a single arrow and a broken longbow, was next. Alastair was the only one still alive.

He was the smallest, the youngest, and also the smartest. He had managed to capture Dean in a joint-attack with Asmodeus that had cost his brother his life and had ensured that Dean was dragged away to his cave high in the mountains.

Dean had been here for a long time.

Alastair tortured him every day. The dragon was so fucking _smart_ , though, so Dean never had the chance to hope for him to accidentally kill him. No matter how much filth Dean spewed about his brothers, he never managed to get the dragon riled up. Alastair was precise and intentional with each cut he made, each burn and bruise and broken bone he inflicted on Dean.

Sometimes he didn’t strictly _hurt_ Dean. Sometimes he held his head underwater several times in a row until the human passed out. Sometimes he kept Dean from sleeping for hours, _days_ at a time. Dean had learned, over the course of his stay in this dragon’s cave, that there were _many_ ways to inflict pain without doing much at all.

It was sort of disturbing, how much pleasure Alastair seemed to take from hurting Dean. He’d even seen the dragon get hard from listening to his screams, which was just horrifying. Thankfully, Alastair had never gone _there_ , though Dean lived in fear of the day he would. It was certainly held over his head, just like the threat of having both his legs broken.

Dean had stopped fighting a long time ago.

The first few days had been pure agony, and when he’d had a break to breathe, Dean had tried to kick Alastair’s temple and knock him unconscious. He’d managed it, stealing the keys from the unconscious dragon to unlock his shackles.

He’d forgotten he was in a dragon’s cave, trapped by a wall of rock that was larger than the front gate of Lawrence’s castle. The only way to move it was to have a dragon to do so. Dean had crammed himself against the floor and the bottom of the boulder desperately, trying to find a crack that would lead him outside.

He would later learn that Alastair’s cave was five thousand feet in the air, a sheer cliff face dropping off to the west side of Hell, the second-largest volcano in the Ryuu range. Even if Dean _had_ managed to escape the cave, he never would have made it down the mountain alive.

Sometimes, Dean thought he would have just thrown himself off the edge of the cliff anyway. Anything was better than this.

It was a general rule among humans that when someone was carried off by a dragon, they were as good as dead. Dean had never met any survivors of dragon abductions. The creatures were fiercely protective of the ‘treasures’ they dragged back to their caves, and they were superior to humans in every way when placed in a one-on-one situation.

So yeah, Dean wasn’t expecting a rescue mission. He didn’t _want_ one, didn’t want the deaths of good men and women on his conscience. He knew that if anyone tried to take him away from here, they would end up like the rotting corpse a few feet to the left.

Dean had been chained to a metal post embedded in the back wall of the cave for the time being. He spent a lot of his time on the rack, but after he’d passed out from starvation and dehydration on the third day, Alastair had given up on that idea unless he was torturing Dean. Dean was no fun to him unconscious.

The human sat up now, muscles trembling and weak. He wasn’t given water often and was fed even less. He’d learned his lesson the first time he’d tried refusing food, trying to starve himself to death. By the end of Alastair’s ‘correction’, Dean had been begging him for food, begging him for anything to stop the pain.

Was he disturbed by how quickly he’d broken? Yes. Dean liked to think he would have lasted longer, but he knew now that was simply not the case. The soldier John Winchester had raised, the Dragon-Slayer and the Prince of Lawrence, had been reduced to nothing more than sniveling mess after not even a week and a half of torture.

Pathetic? Yes. Dean preferred not to think about it.

He groaned softly as he brought himself to a sitting position, the welts on his back from a few days ago scraping against the rough wall of the back of the cave. He’d had an infected wound three times, and each time Alastair had drenched it with enough alcohol to make Dean scream. Unfortunately, he hadn’t died.

Dean stared into the darkness of the cave, wondering where Alastair was and if he was coming back. The dragon always made time for him, even if he was busy as the sole ruler of the dragons.

Azazel had been the original king. He’d been born of a clutch of three eggs in the heart of the Ryuu range’s biggest volcano, the eldest of three brothers. He had killed Mary Winchester when Dean was four years old, feeding the hatred that had been simmering for centuries between humans and dragons. John Winchester, who hadn’t been a major player in the War on Syphon, had suddenly become the leader of the fight against dragons.

Dean had killed Azazel fourteen years later when he was eighteen. It had taken three days, four grappling hooks anchoring the dragon’s wings to the ground, thirty-four men, two water cannons, and over four thousand arrows. Eventually, though, Dean had cut out Azazel’s crown of horns and presented them to his father, only to be assigned the task of hunting down the next prince.

Asmodeus, needless to say, was easier to kill.

He was stupid, reckless, and enormous. He was also bright white, like the snow that capped the Ryuu mountains during the winter. He made the mistake of flying right at Dean, thundering his way up the mountain at a speed faster than any horse could imagine traveling. Dean had fired a single arrow into his eye from two hundred yards away with a broken longbow.

Alastair had been much smarter. Dean wasn’t sure if he’d intended to sacrifice Asmodeus or not. He wouldn’t have put it past the third prince to ensure his brother’s death so he could take the throne. Either way, he’d swooped out of nowhere right after Dean had sent an arrow through Asmodeus’s brain and dragged the prince off to his cave.

Dean had been here ever since. 

He shifted again, wincing at the pain of his body. Alasatair had carefully peeled the top layer of skin off his right shoulder, then held a torch to the soft, tender skin underneath. It was still throbbing like a motherfucker.

The Prince of Lawrence shifted again, then froze as he heard the telltale thump of talons on stone, announcing the landing of a dragon just outside the entrance of the cave.

Alastair was back.

Dean’s hands began trembling, his heart kickstarting to pound a sickening rhythm inside his throat and skull. He hated the reaction, but it was bone-deep and not something he could control. He attributed the arrival of the dragon with pain. How could he not?

He heard the crunch and rumble of the stone at the entrance being moved, and Dean’s chest quaked with fear. Fucking shit, he was scared.

His eyes slitted in pain as sunlight streamed through the space where the rock had been pushed aside. The cave was awash with golden light. A shadow rose in the middle of that flood of sunlight, throwing cool terror over Dean’s trembling form. The human curled into himself, bringing his knees up to his chest in anticipation of the agony soon to come.

Instead of stepping inside and immediately shutting the door of the cave, Alastair walked forward, coming toward Dean immediately. He left the boulder off to the side, which was weird. Alastair was normally careful, taking every precaution he could to make sure Dean didn’t escape. Strangely, there was no drag of ugly tail on stone either, and his footsteps sounded lighter. Dean tensed, listening for the telltale hissing of amusement, but heard nothing.

Tentatively, he peeled his eyes open a little.

Cerulean blue eyes stared back at him.

Dean’s eyes widened, the painfully bright sun blocked by the silhouette of the powerful dragon standing before him. That was _not_ Alastair.

The dragon was a little smaller, for one. The size of his fighting horns suggested that he was young, maybe a few hundred years old. He was pitch black, too. Like coal, or the obsidian that glassed the sides of the active volcanoes. The dragon’s eyes glowed a hot blue, like the center of a flame.

A quick, instinctive once-over told Dean all he needed to know about the dragon, something he’d learned to do after years of fighting the beasts. The long, lean line of the dragon’s body suggested a fast flier, further supported by the enormous wings tucked against the dragon’s back. Dean couldn’t see the dragon’s tail from this angle, but he guessed it was narrow and streamline, with the ability to flare out and alter direction while flying if needed. The dragon’s eyes were fiercely intelligent, narrowed and assessing as they took in Dean’s trembling, pathetic form. 

Dean shook harder.

The dragon regarded him for a moment longer, then stepped forward. Its wings, powerful and tinted blue at the edges, were folded neatly against its back. Its claws were quietly stealthy on the ragged stone of Alastair’s cave.

Dean pushed himself against the back wall as the dragons stepped closer, irrational fear jetting through him. This dragon looked powerful, and power meant pain for Dean. What if this was a new torturer? What if it was worse than Alastair, somehow? What if-

There was a quiet rushing noise, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut as brush of air caressed his cheek. It smelled of cold mountain air, momentarily clearing away the stench of rotted bodies and rusted metal away. Dean nearly sobbed at that, so starved for freedom and sunlight he was practically insane.

Something soft brushed against Dean’s wrists and he cried out in fear, his already-closed eyes squeezing tighter as he braced for agony.

Seconds passed, and nothing came. What the hell? Dean tentatively cracked an eye, then jerked in surprise and fear.

There was a _man_ , a human male, standing in front of him. He was wearing clothes, that weird magic dragons seemed to possess keeping them there even when he shifted forms. The clothes looked soft and warm, a nondescript gray that was fitted to the man’s lean body. The guy was kneeling in front of Dean, handsome face stony and devoid of emotion. Black wings arched over his head, majestic and joined with the shoulder-blades of the man’s back.

Dean stared at him, and the man stared back, blue eyes intense.

His hands were encircling the shackles on Dean’s wrists, the soft pads of his fingers brushing up against the tender skin of Dean’s inner wrist. The human shivered at the gentle contact.

“Who?” Dean croaked finally, voice barely a whisper. It made his throat ache, blood bursting somewhere, making him retch pathetically.

“My name is Castiel,” the dragon told him in a gravelly, deep rasp. “I have come to raise you from perdition, Dean Winchester.” 

Dean swallowed the blood and bile rising in his throat. The dragon was here… for him? To… to raise him from perdition? What the fuck did that mean? He was pretty sure ‘perdition’ meant ‘Hell’, but that would mean… That would mean…

No, that wasn’t possible.

The dragon looked away from his face, eyes narrowing at the thick shackles that bound Dean’s wrists. He produced two metal pins from a pocket in the thick wool coat he was wearing, which Dean recognized as lock picks.

The human prince watched faintly as the dragon — Castiel, he’d said — picked the locks on his chains easily. He threw the open cuffs aside, his straight, handsome nose wrinkling with disgust as he eyed the dead body sprawled only a few feet away. Dean felt like he was going to pass out.

“Come, Dean Winchester.” The dragon stood, holding out a hand. Dean stared at the outstretched hand, eyes practically popping out of his head, then turned to look up at the dragon. There was no _way_ this was happening. It was a fever dream, it had to be.

His wrists felt too light without the weight of the shackles. The chafed skin felt raw in the cool air. Dean felt like vomiting and crying at the same time, and he neither the food nor the water to spare to do so.

It seemed Castiel was not a patient dragon.

When Dean didn’t do anything with his offered hand, he knelt, face set with frustration, and slipped rough arms underneath Dean’s bruised shoulders and knees. The human yelped, both in pain and shock, as the dragon lifted him clean off the ground.

Fucking shit. Castiel was _strong_.

The dragon turned, hefting Dean in his arms like the human weighed nothing. He walked across the floor of Alastair’s cave, carrying Dean away from the place he’d slept and cried and bled in for months and months. The dragon carried him confidently to the entrance of the cave, past the threshold where the rock had stopped him that one time. He carried him _out_. Out to the sunlight, out to the fresh air, out to freedom.

At the edge of the cliff outside, the dragon set Dean down on the ground. The human shifted, trying to sit up, and barely managed it. He was weak and shaky, even with adrenaline flooding his veins.

The sunlight felt _incredible_. It was a gentle warmth on his skin, a kiss of heat and light. The fresh mountain wind blew fiercely so high up, slicing straight through the rags Dean was wearing. He shivered hard, but reflected that he’d much rather be cold than be trapped in a cave that smelled of death.

This high up, the entirety of the Ryuu mountain range was spread out below them.

Dean turned with wide eyes to Castiel, the dragon who had saved him for some reason.

The dragon had stepped away, a determined look on his handsome face. Dean’s eyes widened as he watched the human form’s skin seem to ripple, shifting before his very eyes. He had never seen a dragon shift forms before, but Dean found it wasn’t something he could look away from. There was something captivating about watching the lines of the body grow and harden, the soft skin of a human becoming the hard, interlocking neatness of dragon scales.

In a matter of seconds, there was a full-size black dragon standing beside Dean again.

Dean stared at him, then took in the drop off the cliff that spread out to his right. Castiel shifted his wings where they lay, neatly folded against his back.

Eyes widening in panic as he realized what was about to happen, Dean made a desperate attempt to push himself away from the dragon. “No,” he croaked. “No. No. No.” The dragon didn’t seem to register his pleas. It stepped forward, reaching out with one massive front hand to curl enormous claws around Dean’s entire body. The human prince struggled weakly, panic lending him energy that hadn’t been there before. “No. No. _No_.”

The dragon eyed the drop before them, heedless of Dean’s soft, raspy cries. It tightened its claws around the human prince once, nearly crushing Dean, and then flared its wings to their full span.

With a huff of breath, the dragon dove off the edge of the cliff, carrying Dean’s broken scream with him.

The human passed out from pure fear right after they took to the air, the idea of being _dropped and falling and hitting the ground and dying_ too much for his exhausted, nutrient-deprived brain to handle. His body went limp in Castiel’s claws.

The human didn’t wake, even when the dragon carrying him opened its jaws and let loose a triumphant roar that shook the nearby mountain peaks.

“ _Dean Winchester is saved!_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends! I am back. :)
> 
> If you haven't read my stories before (or you just didn't catch on from an earlier fic) I post every three days (post, three days, post, repeat). I will always post on the day I'm supposed to! The only time I've ever NOT done that was when I was hit by a car and put in the hospital, which I've been told is a good excuse.
> 
> Also, one warning: I (and my characters) swear A LOT. If you don't like that, you can decide whether or not this is worth reading. Also, when it comes to NSFW stuff, I don't (and can't) write that. If you're here to see Castiel screwing Dean or whatever, sorry. Wrong place. :)
> 
> Other than that, welcome! Hello! This is chapter two, and it will be fun. The boys are stupid. Very, very stupid. And very stubborn. :)
> 
> ENJOY!

**Two**

Castiel flew low and fast.

He had never before been so grateful for the aerodynamic shape of his body. As a young dragon, he’d been teased by his fellow fledglings about his wings and tail. They were too long, everyone said. His wings were strangely shaped, his tail ending with several spines that flared outward to help him glide and turn sharply, instead of a club or spikes. It made him the fastest, most precise flier in his legion, but it also made him useless for melee fighting. While most dragons could use their powerful, wide wings to batter their opponents’ skulls and their tails to stab and maim, Castiel used his to escape. Not exactly impressive.

He’d trained hard as a young dragon, trying to make up for something he’d been born with. He’d become the best fighter of his age group, using methods that were unconventional and played to his strengths. No one could match him in the air, and his skills with his claws and teeth made him nearly unstoppable in melee combat.

His other… _specialty_ helped too.

That didn’t matter now, though. No matter how good of a fighter or how hot his fire was, if Alastair caught him now, he was going to die. That meant he needed to rely on his flight skills.

Castiel ducked underneath an outcropping of rock, tucking his wings and limbs close to his body as he used his tail and his momentum to navigate a winding canyon of rock. The canyon was nearly invisible from above. He'd virtually disappeared. Any pursuers he might have had wouldn’t be able to catch him. Not that he’d had pursuers, of course. Castiel had been shocked to find no other dragons guarding Alastair’s cave while he was gone. It proved that underneath the cleverness and intelligence, there was an arrogance to the Dragon King that hadn’t been previously exploited.

Castiel was grateful for it. Alastair’s confidence in his own control over his subjects meant that Castiel had been able to steal away the Righteous Man.

He squeezed his right front foot gently, reassuring himself that the human was still there. From the limp quality of the prince’s body, Castiel guessed that he’d passed out. That was fine. As long as he wasn’t dead, everything would be fine.

The dragon reached the end of the canyon and flared his long, arching wings wide, ignoring the strain of tired, overused muscles. He’d been fast coming up the mountain range, knowing that Alastair wouldn’t leave his precious treasure unguarded for long. Castiel wasn’t in the _best_ shape, and it had been a while since he’d flown so far and so fast. The oxygen intake slits on the sides of his neck and the ridge of his chest were flared wide, capturing as much of the rushing mountain air as they could to make sure Castiel got enough oxygen to his muscles.

He pounded his wings, rising fast and hard on an updraft, tail splayed wide to catch the direction, which was favorable. It pushed him toward the lake where his safe-house was located, where he knew he could hide from anyone and be fine. Dragons typically lived up in the mountains, where their wing space was easy to find. Down in the valley, it was warmer and harder to fly around because of all the trees and birds. That was why it was perfect to hide in.

Castiel ducked down underneath the tree line, bringing his wings closer to his body than before. If they clipped the edges of any trees now, he would be going down for a painful landing.

He followed the snaking, wide curve of the Silver River, the spray from the rapids soaking his underbelly and claws. Castiel’s wings pounded ripples into the surface of the raging water, the disturbance more visible as the river smoothed out and became glassy as it reached its destination.

Castiel exited the mouth of the river, coming out into the wide-open space provided by the lake. He banked hard to the left, tail splaying wide to accommodate the sudden turn. The change of direction was sharp and precise, and Castiel landed with a thud on the sandy beach soon after. He walked with a strange sort of three-legged limp toward the hidden entrance of his cave, one foot raised in the air so he didn’t crush the prince enclosed in the talons.

Castiel breathed a soft sigh of relief as he ducked underneath the lichen that concealed his cave, his tail sweeping quickly out of sight. For a moment, he paused and stared out at the sky, searching for any signs of pursuers.

There were none. He’d done it.

The dragon allowed himself a moment to realize exactly how _insane_ that had been. He’d flown all the way up Hell, the second-largest mountain in the Ryuu mountain range, and broken into the Dragon King’s cave. He’d stolen Alastair’s most precious treasure, flown back down the mountains, escaped, and done all of that without being seen. It was _unbelievable_.

Alastair would surely be after him. It had been no secret that Castiel believed the Dragon-Slayer, the legendary Crown Prince of Lawrence, would end the war. All accusations would surely point to him. Whether or not the other dragons would choose to defend Castiel was entirely up to them.

Castiel knew he wasn’t the only one who was tired of this war. It had been going on for more than eight hundred years, and it seemed endless. Neither side seemed to want to back down. The dragons were beginning to say that the War on Syphon would only end when one side went extinct. It was a horrifying thing to think of.

Castiel, like some other dragons, preferred to think of the time _before_ the war, when humans and dragons had lived in relative peace, side-by-side. He believed that could be achieved again. But first, the last of the three Princes of Hell needed to be weeded out.

Hell was the second-largest mountain in the Ryuu range. The largest was Syphon, where the Air Palace sat at the peak of an extinct volcano. The floor of the palace itself had been formed by lava flows thousands of years ago. Syphon wasn’t active anymore, but Hell certainly was. Alastair, the Dragon King, kept his treasures in one of the caves on the south side, Dean included. Castiel’s cave was on the far northern tip of the Ryuu range. His safe-house, one of two, was located in the valley next to one of the smaller lakes. 

That was where they were now. All of the supplies Castiel had deemed necessary to bring from his main cave had been dragged here in the dead of night. They lay at the back of the cave, piled in nondescript boxes and containers.

Castiel walked over to his nest, which was a large dip in the stone floor. He’d heated the stone himself when he'd first arrived in this cave, pounding the rock into the crater-shape he’d wanted. After he’d let it cool, Castiel had lined it with wool from mountain sheep and soft things from human travelers unlucky enough to cross his path.

The dragon gently laid the unconscious human in his claws down on the edge of the nest. The prince was soaking wet, most likely from the fly over the river they’d made on the way down. His skin, which had been the color of ash and dirt when Castiel had pulled him from Alastair’s cave, was now the pale, unhealthy white of a creature who hadn’t seen the sun in months.

Four, to be exact. Four months at the hands of the Dragon King. It had taken Castiel four months to prepare for the rescue mission.

Dean Winchester had been saved. Castiel had succeeded. Now the next part began.

Castiel shifted forms, the prickling numbness of his changing skin washing over his whole body. It was like when a limb fell asleep, but everywhere. Castiel supposed it was his body’s defense mechanism against the obvious agony that would accompany changing forms.

In a matter of seconds, the dragon was in human shape. His clothes, warm and simple, had been taken from a human merchant carrying many others like it. After knocking the man out, Castiel had tried on different clothes and taken all that had fit him, disappearing into the night before the man could wake.

He eyed the rags Dean Winchester was wearing critically, wondering if the clothes he had in the back of the cave would fit the prince. Probably. They looked to be about the same size, though Dean was noticeably skinnier. He looked even more skeletally thin with his hair plastered to his head and his clothes sticking to his wet skin. Castiel frowned at the shivers that seemed to be wracking the human’s body. He looked… cold.

_Humans lose fat and muscle when they don’t eat. Alastair must have starved him. The lack of insulation must be causing Dean Winchester to be more sensitive to temperature_ , Castiel thought. _Shit_.

He knelt beside the human, dragon wings shifting uneasily on his back. In this form, the wings didn’t disappear, which made it impossible to blend into a crowd of humans. It was something Castiel had never really been able to figure out a way around.

He reached for the prince, unsure of what he was actually going to do, and jerked back when Dean blinked his eyes open slowly. It seemed his body had finally decided to regain consciousness.

Dean blinked sluggishly, his gaze glassy as he swept it around the cave. Castiel realized, distantly, that the prince’s eyes were the most shocking shade of green he’d ever seen in a human.

“What-“ the prince croaked, attempting to sit upright. He seemed too weak to do so, though, and he promptly fell back against the softness of Castiel’s nest with a soft groan of pain.

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel murmured quietly, “what do you need?”

Dean blinked, eyes finding Castiel blearily. “Water,” the prince rasped, voice barely more than a whisper.

Right. That made sense. If Alastair had starved Dean Winchester of food, he’d probably deprived him of water too. Castiel stood to retrieve the metal canteen of clean lake water he kept.

When he returned to the prince’s side, Dean’s eyelids were fluttering with exhaustion. Castiel knelt beside him, placing the edge of the canteen at his lips. The natural soft slope of the nest gave Dean’s back support, so the water didn’t go all over the place. The prince drank greedily when Castiel tipped the water past his cracked, bleeding lips.

It seemed to do wonders to the human. When Dean blinked, his gaze cleared and he eyed Castiel with more clarity than before. When he spoke, his voice was still raspy and painful, but it wasn’t a whisper anymore.

“What-What…” Dean broke off to cough violently, body convulsing with the force. After he’d finished, the human fell back against the soft blankets and wool of Castiel’s nest. “Why?”

“I will explain when you are stronger,” Castiel replied. “This is a conversation that will require your participation, and you are not yet coherent enough to be a credible addition. Rest, and I will explain later.”

Dean seemed like he was going to protest, but Castiel saw the drooping of his eyelids. He was exhausted. The dragon fed him a little more water, then watched as the prince dropped off into deep slumber.

Yes, they would talk later. Castiel would make sure of it.

Dean ended up sleeping through the night. At some point, long after the sun had dropped below the tree line, Castiel curled up on the far side of the nest in human form and fell asleep as well.

He woke hours later, late morning sunlight streaming through the lichen concealing the entrance of the hidden cave. Castiel considered going out to hunt, then glanced over at his unconscious guest and thought better of it. He had food here, and he would rather not leave Dean Winchester alone when he was defenseless.

Castiel got up, stretching languidly. It felt fantastic to spread his wings as wide as they would go. They were about six feet long, each, and folded to four feet long when he tucked them against his back. They were larger than most dragons’, but they were what had carried Castiel away from Alastair’s cave the day before, so he didn’t resent them too much. His entire body ached with soreness, unused to extended periods of heavy physical activity.

Groaning softly, Castiel massaged a particularly sore muscle in his lower back as he climbed out of the large nest. He knelt next to the food stores in the back of the cave, rummaging around until he found a loaf of bread and some salted meat. Castiel located a sort of spread that consisted of cheese and mashed up vegetables and grabbed that too.

The dragon turned around and climbed back into his nest, spreading his wings across the softness. It was large, about twenty yards in diameter, and perfect for his dragon form. As a human, it felt easy to get lost in the piles of blankets and wool. Castiel was careful to keep a steady footing as he clambered across the nest to get to Dean, who was still sleeping.

The dragon plopped down next to the sleeping human and mechanically spread the vegetables and cheese over a slice of bread. He topped it with sliced, salted meat, then crammed a bite in his mouth.

Castiel hummed thoughtfully as he chewed. Not bad, but he preferred fresh venison. Bear meat was even better. This would do, for now.

Castiel finished his slice of bread, eating another just because he was hungry. All that flying yesterday must have been taking its toll.

By the time he was finishing his second slice of bread, meat, and cheese, Dean Winchester had stirred. The prince shifted, eyelids fluttering open, and groaned softly.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel rumbled. He tilted his head to the side as the human blinked blearily at him. “Would you like water or food first?”

Dean’s striking green eyes squinted a little, then fluttered sleepily. “Water,” he rasped. “Please.”

Castiel nodded, reaching for the canteen to help him drink. Dean ended up emptying the canteen, some of the water dripping down his chin and the long line of his throat.

After he’d thrown the canteen to the side, Castiel tore bread into small pieces, alternately pasting vegetable-cheese-spread and meat on the pieces. Dean hummed appreciatively, and after he was finished, he seemed much more clear-headed than before.

That was when he noticed Castiel’s wings.

“Fuck!” the human prince cried, jerking backward. Castiel, about to spread more vegetables and cheese on a small piece of bread, blinked and looked up at him. He found Dean’s eyes focused on his wings, fear wide and open on his face where there had only been dazed confusion before. “Fucking shit. You-You’re-You- _Fuck_.”

“I am a dragon, yes,” Castiel replied, slightly amused. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.” 

Instead of being soothed, Dean Winchester seemed aggravated. His face twisted with something frighteningly close to hatred. “The fuck you won’t. Get away from me.” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes, any traces of amusement draining away in the face of annoyance. How dare this human speak to him in such a way? He had risked life and limb to save his sorry ass from Alastair the day before. He’d sacrificed even more than that for simply _believing_ this human could end the war. And that was how Dean greeted him?

“I will not harm you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel repeated. “I have use for you.” The last part was added coldly. It did nothing to quell the panic in the prince’s eyes.

“What use is that?” Dean asked, voice rough and stained with distrust. “What do you want from me?”

He still sounded so _ungrateful_. It was grating on Castiel’s nerves. The dragon growled low in his throat, the sound a rumbling warning. “I need you to kill the last Prince of Hell. You are going to end the War on Syphon once and for all.”

Whatever Dean had been expecting, that was obviously not it.

The human prince blinked at Castiel for a solid thirty seconds, lips parted ever-so-slightly. Shock froze his face, save for his fluttering eyelids and the working of his throat as he thought of what to say to respond. Castiel waited patiently, pleased that he’d at least shut the prince up for the time being.

That, unfortunately, didn’t last.

“You want me to do _what?_ ”

Castiel growled again, frustration building. He’d been almost fond of the prince earlier that morning, but now that fondness was being eaten up by faint disgust and intense annoyance. “I already told you. I want you to kill Alastair.”

“You want me to kill the fucker that had me stuffed in a cave?” the prince demanded, and his shock seemed to have drained away to something akin to anger. Indeed, there was fire in his green eyes when he glared at Castiel. “Fuck you.”

Castiel bared his teeth angrily. How _dare_ this insignificant human insult him, _especially_ after he’d given so much just to save him? “I want you to end a war that has killed millions and ruined the lives of thousands more. Eight hundred years, Dean Winchester. You have the capability to end it all.”

The prince narrowed his eyes in distrust, that fire flaring up. “You really expect me to believe that?”

“Believe _what?_ ”

“Believe that you, a _dragon_ , want me, a _human_ , to kill _your_ king. That you want me to end a war that has been feeding you and your asshole friends for centuries? Yeah, right,” Dean hissed.

Castiel blinked at him, momentarily stunned. 

“You… You think the war is _feeding_ the dragons? You think we want this to continue?” he asked, voice quiet with shock. How in the _hell_ could anyone think something so absurd?

“Fuck yeah, that’s what I think. Your buddies that burned Caravel seemed pretty on board,” Dean gritted out, and Castiel blinked.

“We do not _eat_ humans,” Castiel said. He made a face thinking of it. “You’re too bony.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the prince snorted. “Our flesh isn’t to your liking? Maybe if you sprinkle a little salt and pepper-“

“Why are you being so _difficult?_ ” Castiel asked, profoundly confused now. All his anger from before had turned into utter confusion. “I saved your _life_. I am giving you a chance to end the war that has been tearing apart our lands for centuries. You should be ecstatic. You should be thanking me.”

“Go find another prince to do that,” Dean gritted out, looking away. His voice was bitter. “This one is used up.” 

“You’re the Dragon-Slayer,” Castiel said, voice quiet. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You’re supposed to be a hero. You killed Azazel _and_ Asmodeus. You are the _hope and future_ of this war. You have the chance to end _millions_ of beings’ suffering, and you don’t even consider it? I sacrificed _everything_ to go retrieve you from Hell. I have been branded a traitor and a fool by my own siblings. There are dragons and humans _dying_.”

“Well that’s a damn shame, isn’t it?” Dean asked, voice twisted with that same dry sarcasm as before.

“You are profoundly selfish,” Castiel hissed, suddenly immensely disgusted with the creature sitting in front of him. “How could you be so shallow? This is a war that goes far deeper than a simple blood feud. I… I cannot believe this.”

He stared at Dean. The prince wasn’t looking at him, his angry green gaze fixed on the bottom curve of the nest. His shoulders were high and tense, his jaw working angrily.

“I may have killed the other two assholes,” Dean said quietly, his rough voice practically shaking with rage, “but I got my ass handed to me by Alastair. I thought I was hot shit, and then he carried me off to his cave and all of a sudden I was _nothing_. I _am_ nothing. Took me all of two days before I started begging like a little bitch. So no, I won’t fucking fight your war for you. I won’t fucking kill your king. I’m tired of losing things. I’m tired of fighting.”

“You-“

“No,” Dean Winchester growled, looking at Castiel with eyes that suddenly seemed more broken than angry. The dragon could do nothing but stare helplessly, heart sinking. “Go find another prince to kill Alastair. I’m done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like the ending was a LITTLE rushed, but whatever. Also, in this universe, I imagine dragons have a little 'L' shaped mark on the juncture of their shoulder and chest. That's what I think of as an 'oxygen-intake slit'. It's my contribution to dragon lore.
> 
> (Prepare yourself for a solid paragraph of geeking out.)
> 
> So, like, I figured dragons are huge, right? And it makes absolutely NO SENSE that they have a tiny little mouth on a small head (relative to their bodies, at least) to inhale oxygen. All those muscles have to be getting oxygen SOMEHOW. Also, I feel like they have two parts of their throat. The actual throat, which leads to their stomach, and the airway that leads to their lungs and, by extension, the chamber where their fire is created (Fire needs oxygen. Duh). ANYWAY, that means that when dragons are spitting fire while also flying in the air, they have no way of inhaling oxygen while spitting fire, and therefore, it makes no sense that their muscles can still work. MEANING, I added a little extra opening next to their lungs (it leads like, directly into them) so they can breathe easier. They have a little flap-thing that filters air so they aren't inhaling leaves, but other than that, it's like a second mouth, but only for air.
> 
> Hopefully, no one has fallen asleep yet. Thank you all for reading! I'll see you on (counts on fingers like a two year-old) THURSDAY!
> 
> ;) See ya!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I MIGHT have almost forgotten this. :( I'm sorry. This chapter isn't any fun, either. Well, actually, it was a lot of fun, but I'll let you be the judge of that.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! Warnings (do you really need them?) for heavy swearing. Like, a lot. :)

**Three**

The dragon left soon after their argument. He was quiet, surprisingly. Dean had expected him to fly into a rage, maybe even kill him just for the heck of it. After all, Dean was practically useless to him now. The only reason the dragon had saved him was so Dean could end the war, and now that Dean was refusing to do that, he meant nothing.

Quite frankly, Dean didn’t care if the dragon — Castiel, if he remembered correctly — killed him. He’d meant what he said. He was done fighting. The war had taken enough from him. He was tired of it.

He’d seen his first dragon when he was four years old. Dean had grown up knowing that dragons were _bad_ , that they meant death and destruction. He knew he should be afraid of them. The paintings of them that hung around the castle, their bloody teeth and sharp claws, were terrifying, especially to a four year-old. 

But Dean had never really known real fear until he’d looked up at the open night sky of that broken tower room and seen Azazel grinning back at him.

The prince still remembered the night like it was yesterday.

When John Winchester was riding back from the Kingdom of Campbell, his new wife Mary beside him, they’d been attacked by a dragon. As Azazel prepared to kill John Winchester, Mary had begged him to spare her new husband in exchange for the life of one of her sons. She hadn’t even thought of the deal, figuring they’d never have children anyway.

They had two.

Six years later, Azazel came to collect his payment. He decided on Sammy, Dean’s precious younger brother.

Dean remembered his legs had been hurting, tired of sword-training. He’d been practicing with Captain Benny Lafitte in the courtyard all day, and the ache in his legs had kept him from sleep. He’d been the first to hear the pounding wingbeats.

Curious, a little scared, he’d gone to check on Sammy, because his little brother was the most important thing in the world to him. Plus, Sammy’s nursery always made him feel safe.

He’d gotten to the top of West Tower just in time to see Azazel rip off the stone battlement like it was made of paper. With the roof torn off, the dragon could easily slither up the side of the tower and peer into the top room, grinning like a gigantic snake.

Dean had stared up at him in the middle of that tower room, pure terror running through his veins.

Azazel was slate gray. His eyes were the bright yellow of a predator’s, and his teeth were neat and sharp. He was enormous, easily bigger than the Great Hall and the stables put together, and he stank of sulfur and smoke.

Mary Winchester had arrived not long after the roof had been torn off. She ran into the tower room to find Azazel grinning down at her oldest son, her youngest wailing in the crib a few feet away.

_Take Sammy and run_.

Dean had obeyed. He remembered being glad his mother was there. His mom always made things better. She’d seemed scared, but that was okay. Even if Mommy was scared, she’d figure it out, right?

Right.

Dean had listened. He'd taken Sammy and run. He’d nearly died, nearly tripped down the tower stairs and broken his neck. He caught himself though, heart pounding, and tried not to think of the barely concealed terror on his mother’s face.

She would take care of the dragon. She’d kill it.

Dean ran. He got all the way down the tower, made it all the way to the corridor right outside, before Azazel burned it to the ground.

Later, servants in the courtyard would describe the scene. Describe the way the dragon had arched its neck and spewed a column of fire straight downward into the tower room, burning it and the queen it held into ash. Some of the stones and iron embellishments melted, melding with the bones of the incinerated woman inside. Azazel had come for a prince, and had decided on a queen. It was all better in the long run, right?

Dean didn’t remember much after that, only the years that followed. The way his father had gone from happy and in love to cold and angry, hellbent on getting revenge and nothing else. Dean's kind, loving father had turned into an alcohol-fueled monster, most nights. One that Dean nearly killed himself a few times trying to impress. He was grateful that Sam never noticed. His brother was too young to remember how John had been before Mary’s death, anyway.

Dean Winchester killed four dragons before he turned fifteen. He killed twelve more after that, including two Princes of Hell. Among both humans and dragons, he became known as the Dragon-Slayer.

Dean hadn’t even expected the war to just _stop_ after Azazel died. His father had extended his need to kill the yellow-eyed dragon to a need to kill _all_ dragons, and it was tiresome. Lawrence was not a large kingdom, but it had the aid of other kingdoms around it, the humans rallying to fight against the dragons.

The war had been going for eight hundred years, started by Dean’s who-knew-how-many-greats-grandfather, Mary’s ancestor, and the founder of the Kingdom of Campbell.

Dean often wondered what would have happened if Azazel hadn’t spared his father. He and Sam wouldn’t be alive, of course, but maybe his mother would have lived. Maybe all that happened after would have never come to be.

He’d had plenty of time to reflect on that in Alastair’s cave.

Dean had tried thinking of other things to distract himself than his own failure. Of course, there was only so much he could focus on in his own past before it grew to be too much. It wasn't like any of his other thoughts were better, either.

He hadn’t been lying to Castiel. He was a broken, used-up toy. There was no way he was going to be able to kill Alastair.

Besides, the idea of the war just _ending_ after the last Prince of Hell died was absurd. In Dean’s opinion, the hatred was set too deep on both sides. Neither would back down. They’d end up grinding each other into the dust.

And even _if_ it would end with Alastair’s death, there was no way he could be the one to do it. First of all, he was a single human. Even an army would probably lose to Alastair. The dragon was not just powerful, but uncannily clever. It was terrifying.

Dean could barely sit up by himself, anyway. Even if he’d been at the height of his strength, Alastair would probably take him out. The Dragon King was backed by hordes of bloodthirsty dragons. It wasn’t like he would be stupid enough to fight the humans alone.

The war was a lost cause. Dean couldn’t imagine the last eight hundred years were anything but proof of that fact. He had no doubt that if there was a way to end the war, it would have already been used centuries ago.

It wasn’t like it mattered. Dean wasn’t going to live to see the end of the war. He’d resigned himself to that fact the first day after Alastair had captured him. There was no coming back from that.

Even now, he couldn’t escape. Sure, the cave was wide open and the dragon had left him alone, but Dean had no idea where he was. He had no idea what the landscape was like. He was too weak to really sit up for more than a few minutes at a time. He was wearing scraps of clothing that would do nothing against the frigid chill of winter. If he attempted to escape now, he would surely perish.

_Maybe that’s better than whatever Castiel might do to me_ , Dean thought. It was a terrifying thing to think of. Castiel didn’t seem to be the sadistic type, but Dean wouldn’t put it past him. Dragons were bloodthirsty, cruel creatures.

Dean sort of hated how helpless he was, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he was stuck in this cave. He had no choice but to sit here and await his death. Either he’d freeze to death, or Castiel would return. Both were equally as deadly.

It was just a question of whichever came first.

Castiel didn’t come back to the cave until nightfall.

By then, Dean had given into his instinctual need for warmth. He was still sitting in the dragon’s nest, unable to haul himself out, so he pulled a thick wool blanket that looked strangely human-made over himself and huddled underneath it. It was slowly becoming colder as night fell over the valley, the last vestiges of sunlight staining the Ryuu mountains gold and red.

Castiel returned not long after the last of the gold disappeared from the snow-capped tips of the mountains. Dean tensed as he heard soft, steady footsteps. Though Castiel was large and most likely incredibly heavy, he was good at staying quiet. Uncannily good, Dean would say. Even Alastair hadn’t been that stealthy. It was unsettling.

The dragon entered the cave dragging a carcass of some sort. When he moved into the center of the cave and out of the bright, silhouetting circle that was the entrance, it became clear that the body was of a deer or something. Its neck was twisted at a disgusting angle.

The human prince watched from the shadows of the nest as Castiel crouched over the carcass. He tore into it with his sharp white teeth, the ripping noise sending nausea swirling into Dean’s gut.

The prince didn’t watch after that.

It seemed to be forever until Castiel was finished, the bones rattling together as he lifted the torn-apart skeleton in his bloody jaws and tossed it outside somewhere. Castiel licked his mouth clean with a long pink tongue, the end forked like a snake’s.

Dean tensed as the dragon neared the nest, expecting Castiel to come straight toward him. Instead, the dragon shifted into human form and moved to the back of the cave. There was a brief period of silence, and then Dean could hear him rummaging around in the storage bins.

Dean watched him, tense and unmoving. He narrowed his eyes as Castiel yanked something out of one of the boxes, then relaxed slightly as he saw it was a thick woolen jacket. The prince watched as the dragon stuffed his arms into the second coat, which was longer and colored a tan, earthy tone instead of gray.

Castiel had just begun to brush his hair with a strange sort of comb when Dean broke.

“You’re just gonna ignore me, huh?” he demanded. His voice rang loud in the large cave, raspy and broken, but stronger than before.

Castiel paused his ministrations, his eyes flicking to the side in the spotted mirror he was using. He met Dean’s gaze, his intense blue eyes calm and unaffected.

“I was hoping you would leave.”

“I though you were going to kill me.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean in the mirror, throwing the comb to the side. He turned, walking back over to stand on the edge of the far side of the nest. “Do not flatter yourself. I wouldn’t waste breath on taking the life of a maggot like you.”

Dean snorted. “Wow, Cas, tell me what you really think.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” Dean asked, tilting his head. He was feeling angry and reckless, and he didn’t know why. Maybe he _wanted_ this dragon to kill him. Maybe he wanted to see to the bottom of that iron control. “Would you prefer something else? Cassie, maybe?”

Oh, shit. He’d touched a nerve there. Dean swore he saw fire flicker behind the blue of Castiel’s eyes. “Say that again, and I will burn out your tongue,” the dragon growled. He looked truly menacing, even if he was fairly far away on the other side of the nest. 

Dean couldn’t help himself. “Say what again? Cassie? Why, is that a problem?”

Castiel gritted his teeth, his canines seeming sharper than a normal human’s in the dimming light. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“For one, you are in no position to give me a _nickname_. Especially one that is reserved for my brothers, whom I betrayed when I went to rescue you,” Castiel growled. And yeah, his eyes were definitely glowing. There was a ring of fire around the blue iris, and it _glowed_ in the dimness of the cave. “Silence yourself before I disfigure you beyond comprehension.”

Dean clenched his hands into fists. “Too late, buddy. I already look like a skeleton.” He bared his teeth in a nasty smile. “As for your brothers… that was your fault for retrieving a broken toy. I have no part in it.”

Castiel snarled, like he wanted to rip Dean’s heart from his chest. The human trembled a little, a shiver of fear traveling down his spine. There was thunder in the dragon’s voice, a hint of the raw power a creature like him no doubt possessed.

“I don’t know why I ever had faith in you,” Castiel hissed, voice dripping with venom. “You’re pathetic and weak, just like the rest of your race. I thought that perhaps you were different, but it seems humanity is just as disappointing in all areas as I had originally thought.”

And _damn_ , if that one didn’t hurt. Dean _hated_ disappointing people, even if they were asshole dragons he’d met a day ago. It really made Dean’s ego twitch and his chest ache, to know that he had somehow let Castiel down. That he hadn’t met his expectations. Maybe it was because he missed his mom. Maybe it was because his father was an abusive bastard who could never be satisfied. Whatever it was, it made something sharp in Dean's chest twist.

The prince covered his hurt and confusion with anger. “ _You_ believed in _me_. I had no say in that! It’s not my fucking fault you’re too stupid to realize that human versus dragon won’t exactly end with the human on top,” he growled.

Castiel’s wings, which seemed to have shoved themselves through slits in the back of his clothes, flared in an undeniable show of anger. “How dare you? I was fighting for the good of our _world_. For the good of both of our species. I sacrificed _everything_ to retrieve you, and you are too cowardly to even try!”

“I did fucking try!” Dean shouted. “I fucking tried and look where that got me! I’m broken, Castiel! Fucked up and wrong and I won’t ever be the same again! I can barely fucking stand by myself! I got _lucky_ with Azazel and Asmodeus, can’t you fucking _see that?_ They were strong, yeah, but they were fucking _stupid_. Alastair isn’t stupid! We’ve got eight hundred years of proof to back that up!”

The cave echoed with their shouts. Castiel didn't respond to Dean, though, so the echoes soon died away.

In the silence that followed Dean’s recent words, the air suddenly seemed empty and sad.

Dean sagged, exhausted, and felt the welts on his back throb as they brushed against the soft surface of the nest. Castiel’s wings seemed to have lowered a little, the fire dying from the dragon’s eyes, as if Dean’s exhaustion was contagious.

“We have to do _something_. Eight hundred years, Dean Winchester. Entire lifetimes of bloodshed and war. This cannot go on. Our species will destroy each other,” he said, and it was the first time Dean had heard anything but hatred and anger from him. He just sounded... sad.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” Dean asked, attempting to hold onto his anger. “Some of the best analysts and thinkers have tried and failed to come up with a solution for the war. We’re too fucking _divided_ , too driven by hatred to stop! It won’t stop. Never.”

And wasn’t that the truth? The ugly, unavoidable truth that had been hanging over Dean’s head since the night his mother died. The war was _endless_. The cycle of violence and hatred never ceased. What could _Dean_ do?

Nothing. He was nothing, in the grand scheme of things. An insignificant speck of life amid a tide of blood and death.

“You are… You’re correct,” Castiel said, and his wings were drooping now, seeming just as exhausted as Dean. “Our species are too divided. I-“ He stopped, eyes going wide.

Dean narrowed his eyes, annoyance surging up. “What?” The dragon didn’t say anything, though he had gone very, very still. In the dying rays of the sun, the flaps of his right wing looked like they were glowing. Dean fidgeted impatiently. “ _What?_ ”

“Perhaps we cannot end the war separately,” Castiel murmured, raspy voice low, “but together, we might stand a chance.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, sure. A dragon and a human, working together. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, asshole.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean, that flicker of hope and inspiration disappearing underneath a glow of anger again. “I suppose it’s typical of a human to be so jaded and selfish that they wouldn’t even _consider_ -“

“You really think that makes me want to work with you, asshole?” Dean demanded, voice rising again. His throat was beginning to ache from all the shouting he’d been doing lately, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t believe how _infuriating_ this fucking dragon was. Yeah, he knew he wasn't be super easy to work with himself, but Castiel was fucking _horrible_.

“I am talking about the greater good!” Castiel snarled, words laced with that powerful thunder again.

“Fuck that!” Dean shouted. “Your fucking greater good is the extinction of my species! You’re forgetting, dickwad, that our species were _never_ friends! We lived in uneasy truce before this clusterfuck; the war is just a culmination of centuries of resentment.”

It was true. He could see the words register on the dragon’s face. He could also see the defiance in those blue eyes, and it made him so _fucking angry he couldn’t see_. Didn’t this asshole understand? Humans and dragons _didn’t mix_. That was why they were in this fucking mess in the first place!

“You disgust me,” Castiel hissed, his every word dripping with venom. “You are so wrapped up in the delusions and expectations of the past that you cannot see the possibilities of the future.”

Dean snorted, ignoring the way the words panged a hurt deep in his chest. “What future?” he spat, his own hatred soaking the words. He fucking _hated_ this dragon right now, hated his entire kind. There was rage boiling in his chest, so hot and volatile it felt like it would eat him whole. “I don’t have a future. I’m stuck in a _fucking_ cave in the middle of _bumfuck_ nowhere, unable to even fucking _get up_ to _piss_ without wanting to _fucking pass out!_ And here you are, my fucking _savior_ , telling me the answer to all my problems is to work with the very creatures that put me here in the first place.”

He glared at Castiel, and he could tell there was real fury in his eyes. The dragon’s face shifted, his wings rising in defense. He _knew_ Dean was angry, understood that Dean was still a threat, weak and pathetic as he was. _Fucking good_. Dean _was_ a threat. He was pissed, and he was cornered. He was fucking _tired_ of being thrown around by dragons. Fucking tired of being everyone else’s pawn. If he didn’t want to fucking end the war, he wouldn’t end the fucking war. He would fuck off somewhere and _die_ , because that, apparently, was the only thing he was good at doing. Or attempting that, anyway. Just getting into dangerous situation after dangerous situation, putting his ass on the line for someone who hadn’t and never would give a damn about him.

He was so fucking wrapped up in his own rage that Castiel’s next words were like a sucker punch to the gut. They physically knocked the air out of him.

“I am not your father, Dean.”

Dean blinked, the air suddenly gone from his lungs. “What.” It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t even really a word. Just a faint breath of air, more willpower than sound.

“I am not your father,” Castiel repeated calmly. “I know of his obsessive need to kill every last one of my kind, maybe better than you do yourself. I know he uses you like a… like a blunt instrument. A killing machine.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Dean hissed. “Shut the fuck up right now.” He couldn’t see anymore, the cave too dim for anything other than the fire that lit the inner ring of Castiel’s eyes to be seen. It cast an eerie glow across his face.

“I will not,” Castiel replied. His voice, which had been so angry and full of real emotion a few seconds ago, was now calm and steely once again. It fucking _pissed Dean off_ , made him feel off-kilter and unbalanced. “I speak the truth. I have no intention of using you for my own gain. My only wish is that we work together to stop a mutual evil. Alastair’s war is _killing_ this land, Dean Winchester. Please, just _look_.”

Dean wanted to argue that he _was fucking looking, gods damn it_ , but he couldn’t speak. Those words, _I am not your father, Dean_ , were still making it hard to breathe.

There were other words too.

_Blunt instrument. Killing machine. I have no intention of using you for my own gain._

He remembered the Kingdom of Oz, suddenly. Remembered Queen Charlie Bradbury, a young princess his own age who had been forced onto the throne by the death of her parents. Dean remembered the news, shouted from a running horse and a panicked herald. He remembered jumping on Baby and riding south with four hundred soldiers, only to arrive four days too late. By then, the corpses of the kingdom’s citizens were bloated with decay. By then, an entire castle and one of Dean’s dearest friends was dead, merely ash in the wind.

He’d seen worse than that. Dean often thought that the dead were lucky; they didn’t have to deal with the consequences. It was the living — the mothers and fathers, siblings and spouses, homeless pets, unkempt gardens, abandoned houses — that were left behind. Dean had seen lives ruined, villages and families destroyed, by the War on Syphon.

He knew. He’d seen. He didn’t want to see any more, and maybe that was the problem. Because even though he didn’t _want_ to see, he knew he _had_ to. Closing his eyes wouldn’t make the problems go away. It would just make them worse.

Tiredly, he lifted his eyes to lock with the glowing blue of the dragon before him. He understood Castiel’s motives, understood his words. The rage in his chest calmed, becoming a tide of sudden exhaustion that threatened to topple him over.

Dean could feel the defeated slump of his shoulders. He released a soft exhale, the last of his fight leaving him on a breath of air.

“Okay,” he said quietly. His words were nearly lost in the darkness of the cave. “I… I’ll work with you. I’ll… I’ll do it. But Castiel?”

The dragon tilted his head slightly. “Yes, Dean?”

Dean tensed his jaw, summoning the last of his willpower. Though he was exhausted, he was proud to hear the backbones of steel in his words. “I will not be used. The second you betray me, we’re done. Understood?”

Castiel didn’t move, but Dean could tell he’d heard him perfectly. Dean thought he could sense the softest shifting of wings.

Then, a deep voice.

“Understood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I find it very amusing to give Dean an absolutely horrible vocabulary. My parents were sailors in the Navy, so I myself have an awful knowledge of most of the swear-word dictionary. :) I am not sorry. 
> 
> The boys are still being stupid, but they'll figure it out, don't worry! I promise this won't last forever. ;) Just a little longer.
> 
> Thank you so much to Taedyn, Why_do_you_want_to_know, Steelcode, TornadoAli75, and everyone else who has commented repeatedly on this fic. You people make my whole darn week! I love you all.
> 
> See you Monday!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellllooooo! I hope you're all doing well. I certainly am. School is finally out for winter break, and I couldn't be happier. Seriously, if any of you are still in physical school, you're freaking lucky. Online school is AWFUL.
> 
> Anyway, I have a fun chapter for you. More fighting, more angst, more swearing. All the good stuff. And maybe a sprinkling of cooperation, who knows? ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Four**

Castiel slept in human form that night. The first test, he supposed.

He woke without a slit throat, so apparently Dean had passed. In fact, the human was gone.

Castiel sat up, something like panic jolting through his veins. He stared at the empty spot on the stone floor, freaking out and wondering where the human had gone, until a scraping noise from the back of the cave drew his attention.

Castiel turned his head, surprised, and found Dean Winchester staggering back to his normal spot on the edge of the nest, carrying a machete, a bow, and a quiver full of arrows.

Castiel tensed.

In the half-light of dawn, Dean must have seen him. “I’m not going to kill you, you dumbass,” the human panted, leaning against the wall. It seemed the action of dragging himself out of the nest, over to the back of the cave, and back while carrying weapons was tiring. Dean practically collapsed when he reached his destination at the far side of the nest, a few feet from the edge.

For long moments, Dean’s panting was the only sound in the dark cave. After a while, Castiel narrowed his eyes at the weapons the prince had chosen. “What are you doing with those?”

“Gonna clean myself up,” Dean replied gesturing to his scruffy beard and lank hair. “Then I’m gonna go hunting, since you don’t seem inclined to share.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes in a sneer. “I am not your mother, Dean. I will not hunt for you when you are perfectly capable of doing so yourself.” He didn’t mention the pang of self-doubt that went through him even as he said those words. Dean seemed to struggle to even move across the cave. Could he really hunt for himself?

Dean answered that for him. “Fuck you. I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Very well,” Castiel replied, words clipped.

Dean huffed and turned away from him, beginning to inspect the arrows in the quiver.

Castiel stared at his back, the pale skin split apart by scabbed-over welts that were obviously only a few days old. They were ugly and brutal, and it made Castiel sick to think about how they'd been put there. He wondered if those were the only injuries Dean had, or if there were worse ones. He wouldn’t be surprised if Dean had more.

It seemed their relationship hadn’t improved, even with their new alliance. Dean was still a stubborn, rude bastard, and Castiel was still floundering when it came to what he was actually supposed to _do_ when interacting with humans. It was sort of tiring, if he was being honest.

He got up, realizing he wasn’t going to be getting any more sleep. Castiel stretched, the joints in his arms and wings popping as he extended them fully. It had been a while since he’d slept as a human. He didn’t mind it, but it made him more vulnerable.

Castiel shifted forms to go hunting, hoping he could find some food. The snow was melting on the ridge, and it didn’t seem like there would be any more of it. Winter was fading.

The air was still frigid when Castiel stepped outside of the lichen-covered entrance of the cave. His breath puffed white and smoky in front of him. The air smelled of cold and snow, even though the forest was still green. Up in the mountains, winter would continue for a few more months. For the valley, though, spring was on its way.

Castiel kept his steps quiet as he hunted, nose snuffling as he sought out a trail that he could follow. He wasn’t painfully hungry this morning, so a simple deer would do. 

He didn’t find a deer, though. Didn’t find a bear, nor a moose, nor a puma or mountain lion or goat that had come down from the mountains.

No. He found a dragon.

Castiel’s ears perked a few hundred yards off, catching the sounds of metal-on-metal and voices. He followed the noises to the source, and there, crouched in the shadows of the forest, he watched.

Humans. They were swarming all over the dead body of a copper-winged dragon that seemed to have strayed too close to their village. The wounds on the dragon were brutal; silver blood ran in small streams to mix with the river that flowed only yards away. It seemed that the dragon had tried to escape across the river, where the humans’ horses couldn’t carry them in pursuit. Evidently, the dragon hadn’t made it.

Castiel quietly retreated into the woods, keeping his footsteps light and his movements slow. He couldn’t risk alerting the villagers to his presence in the area. Humans were stubborn, dogged creatures. They wouldn’t rest until they’d hunted him down, which would mean moving locations. With Dean like he was and with Alastair no doubt on the hunt for Castiel, it would be suicide to break cover now. Castiel needed to be very, very stealthy.

He remained near-silent and achingly slow for about four hundred yards. When the clearing with the dead dragon was completely out of sight, Castiel turned and hurried through the trees on foot, tail swishing with distress and smacking into trees as he went.

He nearly ran right over the deer Dean was hunting. It was just _standing_ there in the middle of the clearing, head down, nose buried in the dirt. Castiel didn’t even think twice about killing it, not wanting to risk it running right through the clearing of humans and alerting them to the presence of a predator in the area. 

“That was my fucking deer,” a voice grumbled, which startled Castiel so badly he nearly passed out. His blue eyes turned, wide, and found Dean watching him with anger on his face. The prince had a bow in his hands and the quiver of arrows slung across his back. The arrow he’d had pulled back was returned to its original position in the quiver.

Castiel glanced behind him, all too aware of the humans only a few hundred yards away, and reached forward to grab the prince.

Dean yelped, kicking futilely as Castiel lifted him in the air. The dragon paid the prince no mind, hurrying through the trees again. He needed to get Dean to the cave so he could explain the situation.

It was slower going, because Castiel was walking on his two back feet and his wings alone. He didn’t often do that, his wings unused to the strain of carrying his entire upper body, but his front claws were full with Dean and the dead deer.

Castiel got to the cave in a few minutes, ducking under the lichen with a pounding heart. He set Dean and the deer down, shifting forms immediately so he could reply to the questions Dean was now bombarding him with.

“What the fuck, man? What was that? You killed my deer, so fuck you. But why the sprint through the trees? I coulda-“

“Dean Winchester, there are humans nearby,” Castiel said as soon as his body was capable of producing intelligible words. “They killed a dragon not far from here, and if they discover me, they will not rest until I have been treated to the same fate.”

“Humans? They killed a dragon?” Dean asked, blinking. “There’s a village?”

Castiel hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. A village a few miles east. Why?”

Dean frowned, shaking his head. “Nothing. Why’d they kill the dragon?”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “Because that’s what your kind _do_ , Dean Winchester. They kill. I doubt that dragon did anything other than come too close-“

“How were the humans supposed to know that?” Dean demanded. Castiel was getting frustrated now, because that wasn’t what this was _about_. It wasn’t about who was at fault and who was right. The point was that they were in danger! Dean didn’t seem to care, though. _Single-minded humans_. “They coulda thought the dragon was there to kill them just as easily.”

“Well isn’t that the problem, then?” Castiel questioned smoothly, anger coloring his tone again. Gods, he was normally more in control than this. There was just something about Dean that was infuriating. “Everyone thinks everyone else is out to get them, so they go after everyone else first, and then everyone _is_ out to get one another.”

Dean blinked. 

Castiel huffed, turning toward the dead deer. It was better to change the subject than get in another shouting match. He narrowed his eyes at the carcass, glancing at it and then Dean. “How do you intend to eat that? Human stomachs are too weak to digest raw meat.”

“You’re gonna let me have it?” Dean asked, surprised.

“Only if you have a plan for consuming it,” Castiel replied.

“I’ll make a fire,” Dean said, glaring at Castiel again. His brief surprise about Castiel allowing him the deer seemed to have melted away. “It’s not like I need your help, fire-breathing dragon though you are.”

“That’s very well, because I wouldn’t have helped you even if you _had_ asked,” Castiel said. It was petty, he knew. He had no idea how this singular human was managing to make him such an emotion-driven idiot, but here they were.

Luckily, Dean only rolled his eyes. He turned away from Castiel, limping to the back of the cave. Castiel watched him go, wondering how exactly this was supposed to work if they couldn’t even have a conversation without being at each others’ throats.

What he’d said was true, though. He wouldn’t have helped Dean with the fire. He… He didn’t have the same conventional fire as his brethren. It was part of why he had been alienated as a hatchling. It was something he would rather forget.

Castiel was jolted from his thoughts as Dean plopped down in the middle of the floor next to the dead deer, a stack of wood and some sticks beside him. The human was trembling and pale, the obvious exertion weighing on him, but he sat up on his knees and grabbed two black rocks.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked despite himself. He was curious.

“Making fire,” Dean grunted, creating what looked like a little nest of fibers and fluff.

“With… rocks?” Castiel asked, confused.

“Not everyone has a built-in furnace,” Dean tossed over his shoulder. “Some of us have to work a little harder.”

He began to scrape the rocks together. Castiel, ignoring the jibe, came to sit on the other side of the strange little nest of twigs and fluff. What did scraping rocks together do to bring about fire? 

Dean seemed to be shaving off little filaments of rock. After a moment, he shifted the twigs a little more, then positioned the rocks over the tiny nest.

The human struck the rocks together once, startling a jolt out of Castiel. The sound of the rocks colliding echoed softly off the walls of the cave. What was even more surprising than the movement and the sound, however, was the brief flash of sparks that Castiel had seen.

He was tempted to ask what was going on again, but Dean seemed concentrated. His skin was an ugly, pale color, and he was sweating profusely. His long hair hung down in front of his face, his mouth twisted in a grim line of effort.

Castiel watched as he struck the rocks again and again. At some point, a little flame actually started, though it quickly burned out. It took a good four or five little flames for a real one to start, which Dean promptly started blowing on.

Castiel watched with unconcealed curiosity as the flame actually _grew_ , eating up the little nest of twigs and branches. Dean hurriedly moved to set up larger sticks, his hands trembling so badly with exhaustion that he could barely get them to stay upright.

In a few minutes, the fire had grown large enough to start eating bigger logs. Dean sat back with an exhausted huff of breath, Castiel staring at the fire with growing amazement.

“Not too shabby, huh?” Dean asked, giving Castiel a wink. The dragon blinked at that, surprised. He hadn’t detected an ounce of anger or hatred in those words. Just… exhaustion and a little bit of amusement. Maybe even a sprinkling of pride.

“No,” Castiel admitted. “I did not know you could make fire with rocks and sticks.” He paused, thinking back to the woods. “The deer you were hunting, the one that I killed. How did you get it to stand still? It was… It was just standing there.”

Dean snorted, tipping his head back to gesture at the storage in the back of the cave. “You have salt back there. I made a salt lick. Attracts the deer so they get preoccupied, and then you shoot ‘em.”

Castiel blinked at that surprisingly clever method of killing deer. He supposed humans had to be clever, as they were neither big nor strong. It made sense.

“That is… surprisingly intellectual,” he admitted. “I suppose I should have expected no less from you. Humans are remarkably good at figuring out ways to kill other creatures without having to use strength or their own selves.”

The moment he said it, he knew he’d made a mistake. He hadn’t meant it to be volatile, but he could see the tension in Dean’s shoulders as the words emerged from his mouth. That easy openness to the prince’s face disappeared under a hard mask of anger again.

“You’re real fucking hung up on that, huh?” he asked, eyes rising from the fire to Castiel’s face. “Maybe we wouldn’t have to develop weapons if we didn’t have a need for them.”

Castiel’s face turned stormy. “Perhaps we wouldn’t give you a need for them if you didn’t give us a reason to.”

Dean snorted. “Sure, Cas.” He deliberately used the nickname again, and it made rage coil hot and hard in Castiel’s chest. “Whatever you say.”

Castiel growled in frustration. “Dean, we cannot possibly accomplish anything if we can’t even have a conversation without being at each others’ throats.”

“Not my fault, hot wings,” Dean replied, leaning back on his elbows like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Castiel exploded.

His wings flared wide, his eyes growing hot in tandem with the flaring of his inner fire. He could feel the fury roiling inside his chest like a living _thing_ , aching to burst out and scorch Dean Winchester to nothing.

“That is exactly the problem, Dean Winchester! It’s not _your problem!_ But you say _nothing_ is your problem, like you have no _fault in it!_ The war is played on two sides! There needs to be reciprocation for there to be a fight! You are not innocent, nowhere near! _This is your fault_.”

Dean sat up, green eyes flashing with rage in the light of the fire. “You can’t fucking blame me for everything! It’s not my fault the war was started, nor is it my fellow humans’ fault!” he shouted. He paused, face twisting with anger and cruel realization. “It’s not my fault you’re a traitor, either.”

“Watch your mouth,” Castiel hissed.

Dean had hit a nerve, though, and he could tell. Castiel could see the glee in his eyes, the satisfaction in knowing that he had made something in Castiel _hurt_.

“It’s true, though. It’s not my fault your… your brothers don’t trust you anymore. Not my fault you’re an outcast, a fucking traitor. It’s not my fault you put all your faith in a fucking lost cause-“

“The blame is not on me for your failure either,” Castiel snarled. “It is not my fault for believing in someone who should have been stronger.”

He’d been right in thinking that one would sting. Dean visibly flinched. Castiel didn’t even try to pretend the satisfaction in his chest wasn’t there. 

“I guess there’s everyone to blame, then,” Dean said quietly, fury simmering just underneath his falsely calm words. “I guess it’s just everyone’s fault, huh? That how it is?”

Castiel hesitated, some of his anger dying. “Yes,” he admitted. “The War on Syphon is both of our species’ faults. I suppose… I suppose this situation is both of our faults as well.”

He expected Dean to get angry again, but his words seemed to have the opposite effect. The prince sagged, his anger draining away. He suddenly looked very, very tired. It echoed the exhaustion that had been nagging at the edges of Castiel’s mind for a while now. It made him less angry, dulled the intense fury that had flared up toward Dean so suddenly. Castiel was vaguely shocked at that. There was a surprising amount of bonding that could be done through shared exhaustion.

“What are we even gonna do?” Dean asked, looking up at Castiel over the flames of his still-burning fire. “How are we even gonna fight Alastair? We’re not gonna have any help from either of our kingdoms, yours especially.”

“Could you possibly gain support from Lawrence?” Castiel asked. “You are correct in assuming that I will receive no help from the dragons.”

Dean grimaced, sitting back a little. “Probably not. My dad… You know how he is, I guess. He’s not going to want to work with dragons at all. He’d probably kick my ass for sitting here talking to you,” the prince said, and there was something bitter in his tone that made Castiel more than a little curious. “He won’t be jumping to support this crazy plan. I’m not entirely sure why I am, either, but I guess I can’t back out.”

“I would hope you would not,” Castiel replied firmly.

Dean shrugged listlessly. “I’m not super optimistic on our chances. It’s not too much of a concern.”

Castiel tensed his jaw, looking into the flames of the fire. Dean snapped a stick and shoved into the little stack of wood burning. He threw another log in too.

“What is your plan for defeating Alastair?” Castiel asked. “What was it before, at least? When you killed the other two.”

Dean snorted. “I didn’t really have one,” he admitted, eyes flickering with the light of the fire. “I wasn’t planning on killing anyone that day. Asmodeus ambushed my group as we were leaving Avalin. Spooked my horse, Baby, and then came straight at me. I sent an arrow through his eye.” 

Castiel nodded, intrigued. He’d heard this story before. Many different tellings of it, in fact. When Dean told it, it seemed so… simple. “What about Alastair?”

Dean gave a dry, mirthless little laugh. “He came up behind me while I was still passed out on top of the mountain. The wind coming off Asmodeus’s wings was enough to shove me off a little ledge. I fell and hit my head. When I woke up again, it was to Alastair’s ugly face right before he carried me off.”

Castiel considered that quietly. “Is there a strategy you have for defeating Alastair at all? You… You do know him well, after all.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. I guess… I don’t know.” The prince sighed. “He’s fucking _smart_ , man. Smarter than Asmodeus, smarter than even Azazel. Sure, Azazel was clever, but he had a rage factor that I played to when I killed him. Got him riled up enough that he snapped and got stupid, and then I grappled his wings and cut his throat open,” Dean said. He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I kinda figure all dragons have a rage trigger, you just gotta find it. Yours is about your brothers.”

Castiel gritted his teeth, a trickle of defensiveness flooding in. “I have more self-control than most.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t infinite,” Dean said knowingly, and something about his confidence made Castiel want to punch him all over again. He refrained, however. He didn’t want to start another shouting match. Besides, Dean was right. He _did_ have a rage-trigger. All creatures had a threshold, Castiel supposed.

“So you want to find Alastair’s rage-trigger,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. He sighed. “Problem is, he knows me. Knows you. Knows our strengths and weaknesses. You’re small compared to him, no offense. Small and kinda weak.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You, a human, are telling _me_ that I’m small and weak?”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t get offended, man. It’s true, if we’re comparing you to Alastair. I can’t fly, so that’s a weakness of mine, and-“ He broke off, eyes flicking to Castiel.

The dragon narrowed his eyes. “What?” he demanded, uncomfortable with how hard Dean was looking at him. When the prince didn’t answer, he opened his mouth to ask again.

Castiel’s attention, however, was caught on Dean’s eyes. They weren’t looking directly at his _face_ , but rather at something behind him. 

Oh.

Oh, absolutely not.

“No,” Castiel growled. “There is now way I am letting a _maggot_ crawl onto my back-“

“You were the one who suggested this whole thing in the first place,” Dean argued, eyes never leaving Castiel’s wings. The dragon was tempted to tuck them behind himself just to get them out of the scrutiny of the human, but he forced them to remain still and proud behind him.

“I refuse,” the dragon bit out. “I will not _defile myself_ -“

“You’re the one who’s all about teamwork and unity,” Dean said, looking him straight in the eyes, and _damn_ if he wasn’t right. “Trust me, I hate the idea too. I despise flying. But it’s the only way.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “That is an utter lie.”

“Is it?”

Castiel opened his mouth to curse out Dean Winchester for the third or fourth time that night, then hesitated. _Was_ it?

As much as Castiel hated to admit it, the Prince of Lawrence made good points. Castiel _was_ smaller than Alastair. Smaller and younger and most likely less skilled in combat. He was built for flying, not fighting. Dean was built for fighting, not flying. It would make sense if they worked together.

But…

It went against _everything_ Castiel had ever learned, everything his society had ever taught him. Humans were _never_ allowed to ride on a dragon’s back. Ever. To be ridden by a human was the biggest disgrace a dragon could bring upon themselves. It was humiliating.

As if he could read Castiel’s mind, Dean shot down his last insecurity with deadly accuracy. “It’s not like you have a whole lot of reputation to uphold, Castiel. I don’t know dragon politics, but I have the feeling you’re past the point of no return. Might as well go all out, now.”

The dragon blinked at the human, unable to comprehend how one creature could be so _stupid_ and so simultaneously clever. It was appalling, really.

His wings sagged a little with defeat, and he sighed. “Very well.” It felt like a physical struggle to force the words out. The small smirk of victory on Dean’s face didn’t help. It prompted Castiel to narrow his eyes at the human, wings rising in a display of dominance one more time. “Dean Winchester, I have one condition.”

Dean nodded, eyes flicking between Castiel’s wings and his face. “Sure. What?”

“If we’re going to do this, if I’m going to humiliate myself,” Castiel said, “we’re going to do it _my_ way, not yours, understood? _I_ control this now, not you.”

Castiel expected hesitation, or even resistance. Instead, all he got was a cool, calm smile. “Sure, Cas. Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo, we're getting somewhere. Maybe, who knows?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're all doing well. If you're in California, I'm praying for you. I have a friend in Los Angeles who can't even go OUTSIDE (because of COVID or something) and he's struggling. :( I love all of you, and I hope you're all happy and healthy!
> 
> Also, happy holidays! Only a few more days until Christmas, which I celebrate. Does anyone celebrate anything different? If so, please tell me about it! I love learning new things. :)
> 
> Alright, that's all I've got for you today. See you on Christmas!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends! Merry Christmas! Happy holidays, to those who don't celebrate. ;)
> 
> I have a gift for you! It's a Christmas fic called Evergreen. I'll try to link it somewhere, but it'll kind of be a struggle. Again, I am not a great person with tech. Whoops.
> 
> ANYWAY, I hope all of you are having a great day. I also hope you like this chapter. Some serious shit goes down. I won't tell you anything, but... well, you'll see. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Five**

Dean sort of expected things to get better after their conversation. They’d worked out most of the kinks of their plan, and they had figured out what was going to be needed to accomplish the seemingly-impossible task of defeating the last Prince of Hell.

That was not the case. Things did not get better. They didn’t necessarily get _worse_ , but the air in the cave was still tense and uncomfortable.

Dean got a week’s worth of food from the deer Castiel had accidentally killed. After that, he went hunting again.

With more food came more energy. He was able to hunt and drag dead animals back without almost killing himself. Castiel seemed endlessly curious about human methods of making fire and cooking food, though he tried to downplay that curiosity with faked indifference. 

They got into arguments almost every time they had a conversation, mostly because it was nearly impossible to talk to each other without making a jibe about something, whether it was the fault of the individual or the fault of the species. It was sort of pathetic, sort of annoying, _definitely_ counterproductive. It continued to happen, though. Thankfully, there were no epic shouting matches, but still… Dean wanted to plunge his machete into Castiel’s chest most of the time.

Regarding the machete… It wasn’t incredibly sharp, but it did the trick when Dean needed to cut wood. He also used it to shave the long hair off his head, using that for kindling as well. He scraped off his beard in the spotted reflection of Castiel’s chipped mirror, slowly shaving away the remnants of his prisoner-for-a-thousand-years look.

When he’d fully shaved his beard and had cut his hair the way he’d always liked it — short on the sides and a little longer on the top — he felt like a new person. Like maybe he _could_ kill the Dragon King. Castiel’s wide-eyed, surprised reaction was amusing as well.

Unfortunately, Dean’s good mood didn’t last long.

The next day, it was overcast and cloudy. Castiel woke up a few hours after Dean finished skinning the rabbit he’d caught that morning, inhaled, and declared that a storm was on the way.

“We should go flying today, if we can,” he said.

“Wouldn’t you want to stay out of the air with a storm coming?” Dean asked, incredulous. “There’s like, lightning and stuff.”

“Precisely why we should go now,” Castiel said. “Other dragons will be laying low. We have a few hours before the storm strikes.”

“You’re telling me we can only go flying if there’s gonna be a lightning storm?” Dean asked, frowning. 

“No, but it’s probably best. Especially since I stole you not that long ago. Alastair will still be looking for you, no doubt,” Castiel said. He made sense, but it still made Dean frown.

He followed the dragon out of the cave, though. Castiel had given him clothes a few days ago, thankfully, so Dean was wearing some thick pants and a wool jacket. His boots were nice, nicer than some of the boots he’d had growing up. He wondered where Castiel had gotten the clothes from.

“So, uh, how is this whole thing gonna work?” Dean asked. He was aiming for nonchalant, but he was pretty sure he missed by a mile. He was hating this plan, honestly, and the glint in Castiel’s eyes told him the dragon was all too aware of that fact. “I mean, how high are we gonna fly?”

“Not too high,” Castiel replied. He looked Dean up and down disdainfully. “I would hate for you to splatter on the ground on the first day.”

Dean blanched. “Uh, s-splatter?”

“Yes. That typically happens to humans, when colliding with the ground from a high height,” Castiel replied. He gave Dean a nasty grin. “I would know.” There was a little too much satisfaction in his voice for Dean to be comfortable. He shifted his weight uneasily, boots shuffling on the sandy beach of the lake.

“Uh, okay. But we’re not doing that, right? You… You _need_ me.”

“Maybe,” Castiel replied, shrugging.

Dean swallowed thickly. Fear was clogging his throat. Gods, why had he agreed to this? Why had he been the one to _suggest_ it? Fuck, he was so fucked. Fuck.

“Uh, okay. So… So what do we do?”

Castiel wasn’t even trying to hide how amused he was by Dean’s discomfort. Fucking _dragon_. “Now, I shift into my dragon form and you climb on.”

Dean swallowed. “Okay. And, uh, then what? Do I… Do I hang on or something?”

Castiel’s amusement faded, shifting to cold, hard steel. He looked Dean straight in the eyes, flickers of fire in the depths of his blue irises. “If you grab onto my horns, tear my ridge, or chip one of my scales, I will _end you_ , Dean Winchester. Understand?”

Dean didn’t even have it in him to pretend he wasn’t scared. “Yeah, I underst-stand.”

Castiel’s expression smoothed out, becoming faintly amused again. “Good. You might want to step back.”

Dean nearly fell on his ass in his hurry to back up. 

Castiel’s smirk of amusement remained on his face, even as it shifted and changed. His body grew larger and longer, wings growing to enormous size. Dean stared as his tail formed, long and elegant, curling around his talons as he finished changing.

Castiel threw out his wings with a sudden snap, startling a yelp out of Dean. Castiel’s wings were huge, easily larger than the drawbridge at Lawrence’s castle. The dragon gave a terrifying rumble as he stretched his limbs, getting used to the body.

After a moment, Castiel glanced over at Dean, glowing blue eyes pinched with a sort of cruel amusement. He gave a soft growl, bending his front legs and extending his long neck to the ground.

“That’s… That’s my invitation to get on, isn’t it?” Dean asked, wishing his fucking voice would go back down an octave. _Fuck_ , he was gonna puke.

Castiel gave him a snarl that could have been impatience, but looked downright terrifying at that moment. Dean wanted to piss himself.

He moved forward on wobbly legs, heart in his throat, and approached the dragon. Castiel’s hide radiated heat. Dean was almost afraid he would burn himself when he finally put a hand on the dragon’s scales, but all he felt was a pleasant heat that bordered just on the right side of uncomfortable.

Castiel rumbled low in his throat again, and Dean flinched. Fuck, he felt shaky. He was so fucking _scared_ , it was ridiculous. He felt like he was going to vomit.

_Do it for Sammy. Remember Sammy. You can do this. You can face your fears. Just remember you’re doing it to stop this fucking war, so your little brother never has to fight like you did._

_Do it for Sammy._

Dean took a deep, shaking breath.

He swung his leg over Castiel’s neck, right at the wide juncture where it met his shoulders. Surprisingly, Castiel wasn’t too much wider than Baby. It was just like mounting a saddled warhorse.

That was, of course, until Castiel moved. Only Dean’s expertise and years of experience as a skilled horseman allowed him to stay on the dragon’s back. Castiel’s movements were sinuous and fluid and _fast_. Dean jolted, nearly toppling off the side. He instinctively went to clutch the saddle horn that wasn’t there, then ended up nearly poking a hole in his hand with one of the spikes that made up Castiel’s ridge.

The dragon snarled a warning, arching his head up. Dean yelped, scrabbling uselessly at the hard scales of Castiel’s back. He ended up gripping hard with his knees, the muscles of his inner thighs straining as he panicked.

Castiel made a rumbling noise again, though it sounded like laughter this time. Dean gritted his teeth, humiliation flooding his veins. He was acting like such a fucking _pussy_ , good gods.

Castiel’s wings rose, and Dean forgot all about maintaining his masculinity. He was seated fucking _high_ off the ground. If he fell off, he could break a wrist or something if he landed wrong.

And they were about to go a lot higher.

Castiel’s body lowered, his muscles tensing as he crouched like a trap coiled to spring. Dean opened his mouth, maybe to shout, maybe to ask for a little more time to adjust. It didn’t matter what it was. It was torn away from him as Castiel launched into the air.

Dean _screamed_.

He nearly bit his tongue off as the dragon’s wings snapped out, catching an air current Dean hadn’t been able to sense. They soared upward on the wind.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _shit_ , oh gods, please, please, oh, oh _gods_ -“

The wind was rushing fast all around Dean, yanking and tugging with invisible hands, threatening to pull him right off of Castiel’s back. Dean tore his hands to shreds scrabbling at Castiel’s ridged scales, desperate to get a hold. Eventually, Dean just flattened his body to the dragon’s and held on, praying loudly and desperately. The wind was screaming in his ears, too fast to allow him to peel his eyes open more than a few millimeters.

Castiel flicked his tail, the flaps snapping open in a horizontal line behind him. His wings moved to flatten with the rest of his body, and he leveled out. Suddenly, everything went still.

Dean’s eyes were squeezed shut, his body flat against Castiel’s neck, legs and arms wrapped tightly around the dragon as far as they would go. He was begging, shouting into the wind, voice torn roughly from his throat. Air whistled past, quiet now, ruffling his hair and tugging lightly at every flap of clothing and slightly-extended limb.

“Oh gods. Oh gods,” Dean chanted, eyes still slammed shut.

For once, Castiel didn’t mock him. The dragon simply flew, wings level, trying to make the ride as gentle and smooth as possible. It still took Dean four minutes to finally get with the program. Once he finally opened his eyes, yelping at the drag of wind on his body as he sat up, he nearly vomited.

They were hundreds of feet above the tops of the trees. Castiel was gliding smoothly, his tail doing most of the work in controlling how the wind steered them. He wasn’t moving super fast, but it was still faster than Dean had ever traveled. _Way_ faster than Baby could run.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed. “Holy shit. I’m flying. We’re… we’re fucking _high_. Oh, _fuck_.”

He didn’t think Castiel had heard him, but there was a low rumble that made him realize the dragon had. Castiel tilted his tail and they banked gently to the right. It was a slight shift, but Dean still clenched his knees around the dragon’s neck and flattened himself again, panic shooting adrenaline through him.

Cassie flicked his head, his horns a few yards away from Dean’s face. He had a beautiful crown of horns, Dean realized distantly. He hated to think it, but they’d look really nice if they were mounted on a wall.

Dean continued gripping tight with his knees, feeling every jolt and bump of turbulence in the air. Castiel’s wings were enormous, catching every flow and updraft. His tail, spread wide, directed their path of travel. It was kind of amazing, actually, if Dean bothered to think of the science behind it.

He huffed a half-hysterical breath of laughter as they rounded a slow, wide circle and came back over the lake, which was gray and ominous underneath them. “Holy shit. I’m f-flying. Not that fucking hard, I g-guess.” Dean swallowed. Yeah, not that hard at all.

Right?

Castiel rumbled low in his throat. Dean didn’t know what that meant, and at the moment, he found he almost didn’t care. He was high on adrenaline and elation, his blood buzzing with it. He felt shaky and panicked, weak and somehow strong at the same time.

The dragon glided lower over the lake. They weren’t high above the water now, only a few hundred feet. If Castiel were to pound his wings in a full arc, he would probably make disturbances on the surface.

Dean tentatively released his death grip on Castiel’s ridged scales, his hands numb with how hard he’d been hanging on. They were stained with blood, the fingertips torn apart by the desperate scrabbling he’d done earlier. One numb finger at a time, Dean let go of Castiel’s scales until he was riding with only his knees.

Dean raised his arms in the air and whooped, ignoring the flash of adrenaline that shot through him at the tug of the wind on his upraised body.

“Fuck yeah! Not that fucking hard!” he cried into the wind, elated. His heart was pounding too fast to imagine, making him stupid and reckless. He snorted. “Like riding a fucking pack mule.”

Mistake. 

In hindsight, it was definitely an asshole thing to say. Not only was it premature and cocky, but it also doubled as an unintended insult to Castiel. It made sense that the dragon reacted the way he did, though that didn’t make it _right_.

Dean yelped as he felt the air shift around them. His hands shot down from their position over his head to scrabble for a hold on Castiel’s rough scales again. The dragon was rising in the air, the ground falling away beneath them. Dean shivered hard as he heard a rumble of thunder rock the sky. He flattened himself to the dragon’s back.

“Cas?” he shouted over the rush of the wind. His legs were numb with how hard he’d been clinging to Castiel. Dean’s eyes streamed, the wind tearing the moisture away from them so fast he had to blink repeatedly to even _see_ where they were going.

It looked like they were just going… up.

Thunder rumbled across the sky, and Dean cringed, clinging to the dragon he was riding.

“Cas? Castiel! Wha-Where are we going?” he shouted. “Cas. Cas!”

The dragon didn’t acknowledge him. For a moment, Dean was terrified that he hadn’t even heard him. Then he realized how ridiculous that was. Castiel had heard him perfectly fine. He just didn’t care.

It sent a bolt of fear through Dean. He didn’t dare look down, his body lowered to plaster flat against Castiel’s again. He didn’t know where they were going, why the smooth glide from before had suddenly turned into a horrifyingly steep ascent.

Dean sucked in a gasp of panicked breath, realizing that it was getting harder to breathe. Castiel was still rising, his wings pounding the air around them now, like the drumbeat of a hellish army. It made Dean remember a different day, kneeling on a mountaintop, a dragon the color of new snow thundering toward him.

He sobbed suddenly, breath flying from his lungs, and tucked his face against Castiel’s warm scales. He knew he deserved this, on some level. To be scared into having some humility. He and Castiel had been fighting on and off for days, and he’d made a pretty bad mistake back down on earth. It caused Dean to sob again, breath catching in his throat. It was getting hard to breathe.

“I wanna go back down now. Cas, _please_. Castiel!” he shouted. He squeezed his eyes shut, terror pounding a sickening rhythm in his head. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking _sorry_. Please, Cas, _please_. G-Go _back_.” His voice broke on the last word, pure fear sending his voice ratcheting up a few octaves.

Suddenly, all the wind stopped. Castiel opened his wings with a snap, the air becoming a soft whistle in Dean’s ears. His sobs suddenly seemed loud in the absence of wind noise, his trembling that much more acute.

He looked up through streaming eyes and saw the flashing fury in Castiel’s left ice blue eye. The dragon had turned his head to glare at Dean, neck twisted to make eye contact with the human on his back. There was a lot of rage flickering in that blue iris.

He was _right_ to be angry. Dean had called him a pack mule. Dean _knew_ how humiliating it was for Castiel to have a human ride on his back, knew that the dragon was ashamed. He was sacrificing a lot of his dignity to let Dean sit where he was. Some part of him hadn’t been able to resist jabbing at the dragon. The other part had just been trying to figure out what the fuck he was doing, and making jokes at someone else’s expense was a great way for Dean to regain his footing in an unfamiliar situation.

Dean felt guilt run through him like a tidal wave, lacing shameful undertones to the terror flooding his veins. Gods, why had he _said_ that?

He opened his mouth to apologize again, then made the mistake of looking past Castiel’s head. The ground was far, _far_ below them.

A sob tore from Dean’s throat, terror flashing through him again at the sight of the land spread out before them like a miniature map. The Ryuu mountains looked small from here, the rising thunderheads all around miles tall.

“Oh gods. Oh _gods_.” It was impossible to breathe up here. He was gasping and not getting enough oxygen. His chest felt like it was being weighed down with a mountain. “Oh gods. C-Cas, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, p-please don’t drop me. _Please_ , please, oh gods, please. _Please_ , Cas.”

Dean was too terrified to even feel ashamed for begging. He was more scared than he’d ever been in his life. His entire body was numb with how hard he was holding onto the dragon’s back right now. He felt like he was going to vomit. He _hated_ heights, hated the idea of falling even more. Falling meant absolutely no control, no way to get out of an inevitably deadly, painful situation. And up here, clinging to Castiel’s back with nothing more than his trembling hands and numb legs, there was nearly _nothing_ stopping him from just dropping off and falling all the way back down to earth.

The dragon didn’t look any happier with his apology. If anything, Castiel looked angrier. Underneath all that rage, though, there was faint satisfaction. He had the perfect opportunity to get back at Dean. To scare the living shit out of him. Dean recognized that twisted amusement, and it terrified him almost more than the thought of falling. Castiel could kill him. Right now, wheeling thousands of feet above the ground.

The dragon took that opportunity without a second thought.

While the prince on his back was still gasping and begging, fighting for air, Castiel tucked the flaps on his tail. He snapped his left wing inward and arced to the side, body careening sinuously through the air.

Dean _screamed_.

There was nothing he could do to fight the power of the wind when he was unprepared like that. His grip on Castiel’s back slipped, the scales torn from his fingertips. The dragon arced away, slipping through the air like a ribbon. Castiel righted himself in the air a few seconds later, relishing the scream of terror from the prince who was now falling toward earth.

Dean couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel anything but frigid, rushing wind and _nothingness_. No dragon. No earth. No safety. Just the cold, drop-out terror of a freefall.

The terror that surged through him was so intense he _did_ vomit, the bile catching in his throat and choking him. That was the last straw, really. The panic overloaded his brain, all the sensations too much for him to handle.

His eyes rolled up into his head halfway to the ground, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I can't link the fic. If need be, just go to my username and search up 'Evergreen' as the title underneath the search bar. That should find it, if you're interested.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're all doing well. Happy holidays, and Merry Christmas! I'm off to spend time with family. See you all soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEEELLLLOOOOO! It's so good to see you again! Sorry for the cliffhanger in the last one. :( I know some of you were mad about that. This chapter is absolutely wild. You'll love it. ;)
> 
> Also, I believe it's time to introduce my newer readers to the Speed Rollercoaster. The basic rule is this: What goes up must come down, and vice versa. Or: there cannot be a whole bunch of awesome fluff without a shitload of angst first. ;)
> 
> For those of you who are already accustomed to the Speed Rollercoaster: prepare yourselves.
> 
> Have fun! ;)

**Six**

Castiel caught Dean mere feet from the surface of the lake, shoulders aching with pressure as he snapped his wings outward to cut sharply across the water.

The dragon was tempted to fly all the way back up and drop Dean again, just to hear the prince’s desperate screams continue, but he figured he’d done enough. From the limp quality of the human in his talons, he’d gotten the message.

Castiel almost dropped him right into the lake, but decided against it at last second. He knew Dean had passed out in the air and woken somewhere near the ground, but he didn’t want to risk the possibility of the prince passing out again and drowning. Castiel dropped him on the beach instead, making sure they were low enough that Dean’s fragile human body wouldn’t break on impact.

Castiel did a low sweep of the lake one more time, relishing the stretch of his wings, then came back to the beach to land. He found Dean on his hands and knees, vomiting onto the sand.

Castiel’s huffs of amusement turned into chuckles as he shifted forms, growing smaller as his dragon shape melted into his human body. He moved to stand above Dean, looking down at the human with cruel amusement curling in his chest. He knew it was wrong to find humor in this, especially since Dean had already kind of apologized, but Castiel couldn’t help himself. It felt good to get revenge. A little wrong, a little twisted, but mostly good. Dean kind of deserved it, after all. His comment in the air had been completely uncalled-for, and this was sort of a culmination of all their arguments in the past anyways.

Dean was still on his hands and knees, though. He’d stopped vomiting finally, but he hadn’t moved a bit. 

Castiel frowned, narrowing his eyes. Dean was trembling badly. “What’s the matter with you?” the dragon asked, tempted to nudge at the human with his boot. “Get up. It wasn’t _that_ bad. Could have been much worse, if I’d decided so.” He gave a little smirk.

Dean still didn’t move. This time Castiel _did_ nudge at him, just a little. He was startled by the intensity in which the human was shivering.

Castiel could feel his satisfaction draining away, replaced by a dark, unpleasant feeling. He wasn’t enjoying this anymore, and he really wanted Dean to just get up already. Honestly, the human was just being dramatic.

Right?

“Dean?” Castiel asked. He didn’t even mind the uncertainty that colored his voice, too worried and uncomfortable. What the hell was going on? “Dean?”

“Just leave me alone,” Dean whispered, his head hung low, gaze on the sand. “Please, Castiel.”

Castiel blinked, feeling a sudden intense urge to vomit.

That… was not normal. It wasn’t _Dean_. Dean was an asshole, arrogant, spitfire prince. He always had a response to Castiel’s jibes, an insult or snide remark to trade. He never whispered, never cowered, never _bowed_. It was one of the things Castiel had slowly begun to realize over the short time he’d known the prince. No matter how Dean had said he’d ‘broken’, he hadn’t. Not really. He was still _Dean_.

Castiel was suddenly very, very scared that he’d just unintentionally accomplished what Alastair had set out to do five months ago.

“Dean, what-“

“Leave me _alone_.” It was meant to be commanding, Castiel could tell. Dean was _trying_ , but something Castiel had done had rattled something inside of the prince. Maybe even broken it.

Castiel swallowed past his suddenly-too-tight throat. “I was going to catch you,” he said quietly.

“ _How the fuck was I supposed to know that?_ ” Dean screamed, the sudden volume of his voice startling Castiel badly. Dean jerked backward, off his hands and knees, and glared up at the dragon from his position on his rear in the sand.

Castiel couldn’t speak. He stared at Dean’s furious face, at the tears that had been silently streaming down it for gods-knew-how-long. Dean was trembling badly, arms barely preventing him from falling flat on his back. 

_What have I done?_

Castiel swallowed. “Dean, I wouldn’t have just let you fall.”

“You _did_ , though!” Dean shouted, voice cracking. “You let me fall and fall and _fucking fall_ , and then you caught me because you fucking _need me_. And I didn’t even know if that was enough.”

Castiel blinked. “Dean, I-“

“I’m replaceable, you fucking asshole!” Dean screamed at him. “Guess I can tell you that now, huh? Now that you fucking showed your cards!”

“Replaceable?” Castiel questioned quietly, unable to say anything else. His head was spinning. The ground felt like it had been yanked from beneath him. As if to echo his internal storm, the thunderclouds overhead boomed.

“Yes,” Dean hissed, chest heaving. His tear-filled green eyes were wide and angry. “Fucking replaceable. You think I’m the only human to ever kill a dragon? There are soldiers and mercenaries a _thousand_ times better than me that could kill your fucking king for you! I’m just the lucky motherfucker that killed two Princes of Hell because I was in the right place at the right time!”

Castiel sucked in a quiet, shuddering breath. He knew, somewhere deep down, that what Dean was saying was _wrong_. There was no one else that could have killed Asmodeus and Azazel, no one else who could have survived four months with Alastair. No one else who could end the War on Syphon.

Dean blinked, and fresh tears flowed down his face. It twisted something deep in Castiel’s chest, which shouldn’t have been _possible_. He shouldn’t care about this human prince. He should be _reveling_ in the pain and fear he’d caused. Michael would have. Lucifer would have. Even Gabriel might have relished the tears in Dean’s eyes.

But all Castiel could feel was… guilt. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Because,” Dean rasped out. “Because I’m done with being fucking tossed around by you and your winged, asshole buddies. I’m tired of being bullied and torn apart and fucking _humiliated_ for your amusement. Fucking kill me if you want to. I don’t care.” His voice broke. “I trusted you, Castiel. To some degree, I fucking _trusted_ you. You think it was fucking easy for me to climb on the back of a dragon? You think you’re the only one who was sacrificing things? No human has _ever_ flown before. I _trusted_ you. And you fucking dropped me.”

“I caught you,” Castiel whispered, words nearly lost in a clap of thunder. He couldn’t understand why he felt like shit, why he felt like falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness. This was a fucking _human!_ He should be… He should be…

He should be satisfied. He wasn’t. Not anymore.

“You dropped me first,” Dean replied. He gave a little sob, something that seemed more involuntary than anything, then scrubbed at his face angrily.

Castiel could only watch as Dean stood up, aggressively brushing grains of sand off his pants. He stalked past Castiel, his whole body still trembling with the aftershocks of fear. Castiel didn’t turn to watch him go, eyes trained on the sand and the little puddle of vomit off to the side.

The dragon’s wings were drooping, nearly brushing the sand beneath him. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Thunder boomed again, and the rain finally began to fall.

Dean was quiet. He didn’t eat, didn’t drink, didn’t move. He just laid on the hard stone floor of the cave, facing the wall and pretending to sleep.

Castiel felt like tearing his hair out.

After so long spent living with the prince, a constant fiery source of sarcastic quips and clever innuendos, the silence was suffocating. Castiel tiptoed around his own home, afraid that if he made too loud a noise, he would break Dean Winchester completely.

It was obvious that he’d crossed a line. Dean hadn’t been joking, up thousands of feet in the air. He had been fully serious. Castiel had destroyed his trust. The dragon knew it would be a lucky thing if Dean ever even _spoke_ to him again.

It made the guilt in Castiel’s chest nearly unbearable.

The dragon had no idea how to remedy it. How to find it in himself to apologize. It wasn’t even a question of ego anymore, because if he knew the thing to say that would put everything back where it had been before, he would have said it in a heartbeat. Gods, he would have gotten on his _knees_ to say it! Whatever it took to return Dean to his snarky, annoying, frustrating, fiery self. This broken shell was terrifying.

Castiel laid in his nest that night, thunder and lightning flashing outside, and stared at the small, dark form of Dean curled up on the edge of the other side.

_What the hell do I do? How do I fix this? I_ need _to fix this, there’s no way I came all this way, made all those deals and had all those arguments and conversations, just to ruin it because of one moment of fucked-up revenge._

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, remembering Dean’s words from the beach. _I trusted you, Castiel. You think it was fucking easy for me to climb on the back of a dragon? You think you were the only one sacrificing things?_

He was right. He was so painfully right. It _hurt_ , actually. Something in Castiel’s chest physically ached, the guilt eating at his insides like a spreading poison. 

Castiel had been so wrapped up in himself, in thinking about what his brothers and sisters would say if they’d seen him flying with a human on his back, that he’d completely forgotten how much Dean had been sacrificing. If he _really_ wanted to, he could imagine just how terrifying it must have been to be Dean. To put all his trust in a dragon that he barely knew. To cling on with only his hands and knees, to rise thousands of feet in the air and fall just as far without an ounce of control over his own fate.

_Gods_ , Castiel had been an asshole.

He flinched as a particularly loud crack of thunder sounded, wishing suddenly for the warmth and safety of his nest back home. With his brothers and sisters around him, he didn’t need to worry about murderous humans or thunder. He could just sleep peacefully, maybe with a wing thrown over his ears to muffle the noise. Back home, he didn’t have social interactions with a snarky human prince to navigate, didn’t have unfixable mistakes to try to work around. Back home, everything was simpler.

_I can’t go home now, though. At least, not without stopping the war. Only then will I have a chance to be accepted back into my flock._

_Which means I need to figure out how to fix this. I need to patch up whatever this is with Dean. We cannot stop now._

Castiel sat up, lightning flashing and lighting the cave up for a brief second. He could see Dean curled up on the other side of the nest, his back only a few feet from the edge where it began to dip down. The dragon contemplated speaking, trying to find words to apologize, then decided against it. From the relaxed look of Dean’s shoulders, it looked as if he’d managed to get to sleep after all. Good.

Castiel climbed quietly out of his nest. He didn’t know how he was going to fix this, but he knew he had to start _somewhere_. So far, Dean had made it very clear that food was important to him. He sometimes spent hours out in the cold, hunting for a deer when he had plenty of smoked rabbit, simply because he wanted to eat venison. It was ridiculous, in Castiel’s opinion, but he figured he could catch quite a few different varieties of animals and cook them in the blink of an eye.

At that, Castiel paused. That would require using his fire, he knew that. He didn’t think he’d used his fire in a long, long time. Not since… Not since he’d left the garrisons. Months, then.

Castiel shifted forms as quietly as possible, keeping his tail high so he didn’t knock anything over. Once he was in dragon form, he tried revving his inner fire a little.

Smoke poured from his nostrils and his mouth, when he opened it. Inside, that place deep in his chest warmed like he’d just gulped a whole mouthful of heated water down. Great. So that was still working.

Castiel began to walk as silently as possible, trying not to wake the sleeping prince. Dean looked so small from this angle, smaller still because of the darkness. It made something strange in Castiel’s chest ache.

The dragon crept quietly out of his cave. It was dark outside, made darker because of the thick thunderclouds raging overhead. Castiel was a little less quiet as he moved through the forest, figuring that it was hard to hear himself _think_ over the sound of the thunder, so any deer or bears wandering around at night would be pretty much deaf.

That last part made him wonder. He didn’t think there would be any deer or bears at all, now that he thought of it. It was the dead of night, and wildlife was still pretty much scarce because of the cold. Spring was coming, but not for a while yet. Perhaps he’d find a mountain lion, then. They sometimes came down from the Ryuu range to hunt in the valley. He didn’t think goats ate at night. Perhaps there would be wolves? Though, Castiel wasn’t quite sure they would taste very good. Birds, maybe?

Castiel was too busy thinking of trying to find animals to notice the creatures right underneath his feet. Once he did, it was too late.

His biggest mistake was shifting forms, thinking he could try to escape notice by being smaller. The villagers that had surrounded him in the darkness were waiting for precisely that. 

The moment Castiel was in human form, something cracked in the night. He tried to flare his wings wide, an instinctual urge to make himself look bigger and to provide a plan for escape if needed. But before they could extend even a fraction, something cold and artificial stopped them.

Castiel staggered, the weight of the silver net causing him to nearly lose his balance. All around him, torches flickered to life.

The dragon stared around with wide eyes at the ten humans that emerged from the underbrush, armed to the teeth and grinning like jackals. They were all male, clad in mismatched silver armor. Some carried swords and torches. Some carried crossbows loaded with cruel-tipped arrows, their ends barbed and curved inward toward the shaft for maximum damage on extraction. One man even carried what looked like a sharpened stick.

The singular human carrying an empty crossbow grinned at Castiel. “Hello, dragon.”

Castiel bared his teeth. He tried to flare his wings again, wincing in pain as the silver net cut into the soft flaps of leather. The net was _strong_.

The humans laughed cruelly. “Look at the biddy dragon,” one of them crowed. “Tryin’a get away from us, eh? Can’ do that so easy, bitch.”

His friends laughed again.

The first human, the one with the crossbow who must have fired the net, smiled wickedly at Castiel. “Didn’t think you’d get away with not being seen, did you? We saw you earlier, flyin’ around that lake there. Saw you go real high too. Didn’t think you could hide forever, did ya?”

Castiel snarled, putting as much thunder as he could in the noise. His wings flared again, battering at the confines of the net. It didn’t seem to even strain as it kept him contained. Panic was beginning to slither through Castiel’s veins. He couldn’t open his wings, couldn’t shift, couldn’t escape. It sent his heart thudding wildly.

Distantly, he wondered if the men weren’t mentioning Dean because they didn’t think he was important, or simply because they hadn’t seen him. A human riding on a dragon was pretty monumental, so Castiel didn’t think it was the former. 

That sent a jolt of hope through him.

If he could escape this ring of villagers and run through the forest, maybe he could get back in time to get Dean to untangle the net from his wings. With the net looped as it was around his wings, he couldn’t shift without absolutely destroying the bones and tendons as they grew with his body. The net would probably break, yes, but Castiel’s wings would be irreparable. The net kept him from flying away now, too, so he was stuck on the ground.

_Think of your advantages, Castiel_ , Michael’s voice said in his ears. _What do you have against them that you can use?_

Castiel considered. Not much, if he was being honest. He was outnumbered. The men looked to be stronger than him in every regard, and they had weapons. Long-range weapons.

_I know the forest, though_ , he thought. _I know the forest, and I have Dean back at the cave. Surely he could at least get the net from my wings before these men catch up with me. Their weapons only work in a wide-open space, too. This is anything but._

_Yes. I just need to take out one of them. Just one. And then I can run._

Castiel snarled again, putting on a show, and glared around the circle of men. They all looked to be the same, fairly excited and buzz-drunk on the thrill of a hunt. All of them except one.

He was glaring at Castiel, but the dragon paused. There was something about his eyes and his face that didn’t match up. Thanks to being around Dean so much, the dragon found it easier to read human expressions. This man was afraid, but was trying to cover it up with a facade of anger and glee, like his friends. Castiel had seen that expression on Dean once or twice before.

The dragon bared his teeth in a sickening imitation of a grin. The fake thrill on the man’s face disappeared, swallowed by fear.

Castiel charged.

The men, who obviously hadn’t been expecting such sudden movement, jerked and shouted. Castiel heard the crack of a crossbow going off and ducked, the arrow whistling sharp over his head. Thankfully, these were villagers and not trained soldiers. Their aim was awful.

Castiel charged right at the terrified man, shoving him out of the way. The dark forest opened up around Castiel, who ducked underneath low branches and skidded around fallen logs, trying to lose the glow of torches and shout of voices behind him.

The men were _fast_ , and it seemed that they weren’t as foolish as Castiel had thought. They spread out a little, making it impossible for him to cut to the side and run back around. His only option was to keep going straight ahead and pray he could make it to the cave with enough time for Dean to untangle his wings.

That plan was slightly hindered by the crack of another crossbow. A flash of pain arced up the outside of Castiel’s right thigh, the dragon stumbling. He nearly fell when he didn’t have his wings to catch him, the pain flaring as he clapped a hand down on the gash. It was a cut, the arrow grazing his skin, but it felt like hell and was causing him to limp and lose ground.

The humans screamed in excitement, hooting their victory for all to hear.

Castiel limped faster, cutting underneath trees and through bushes. He was leaving a trail of blood now, making it all the easier for the humans to follow. They were closing in.

Distantly, Castiel knew there would be no time for Dean to get the net off his wings. The human might not even do it, might not even care. Castiel had toyed with his life today, had betrayed his trust so deeply he wouldn’t be surprised if the human just let him get taken.

Castiel staggered faster, still holding onto hope, and flinched as he heard the crack of a crossbow again. This time, thankfully, the arrow cut through the air above his head. It was a close call.

He got to the edge of the forest near the beach, the concealed entrance to the cave only a few hundred feet away. The dragon staggered forward, the loss of blood pounding in his head, making it hard to stay upright. His wings were straining at the net, the sharp edges cutting into the scales.

Castiel heard the crack of a crossbow again, and then something else. A sort of _twang_ , an answer to the crossbow from behind.

Someone screamed, though it wasn’t from excitement this time. No, there was pain and fear in that scream. It made Castiel nearly look back, shock and curiosity flooding past his panic.

That twanging noise sounded again, and he looked up.

In front of the entrance of the cave, bow bent with the force of the arrow being pulled back, a green-eyed prince knelt. His eyes glowed in the light of the torches behind Castiel, anger and rage twisting his features. He bared his teeth in a snarl as he fired again.

The arrow flew past Castiel’s head, and someone else screamed. The dragon nearly fell over again, shock numbing the pain for a moment. Dean… wasn’t firing at him. No, he was firing at the humans chasing him. And he was _hitting_ them.

Castiel stumbled, the crack of a crossbow sounding again, nearly taking his head off. Dean was only a few yards away now. Castiel tripped a few feet away from him, dragging himself the rest of the way.

Dean glanced over at him, that brokenness from before gone, replaced with the fire that Castiel knew so well.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, low voice commanding and firm. 

Castiel could do nothing but nod, watching as Dean drew another arrow from the small pile next to him and fitted it into the string.

As the dragon watched, Dean rose and fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Exciting? No? Tell me about it. ;) I'm interested. So far, this is a really fun story. I'm enjoying it. Also, thank you for the love I received on Evergreen, it made my whole week!
> 
> If you liked these chapters, I think you'll enjoy the next one. It's surprisingly fluffy. ;) See you all in three days! LOOOOOVE YOU!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! WOOOOOO! WE MADE IT, MY FRIENDS!
> 
> Actually, this year was terrible, but there were definitely some good things that came out of it. I got a job that I love and I got closer to my family, which were definitely things to be grateful for. I hope that you found some good this year, too. I really feel like we went into this year thinking we'd get everything we wanted, and we came out being grateful for what we have. That being said, one of those things I am profoundly grateful for is YOU, my dear readers.
> 
> SO, I decided to give you another chapter. It's the best I can do, since I can't travel to all of your houses and give you each a hug. :( I wish that was a possibility. As it is, this is all I've got. I hope you like it! Enjoy some fluff. ;)

**Seven**

Dean was woken by the shouting.

When he sat up to check the nest, he found Castiel gone. That was the first of his signals that something wasn’t right. Frowning, a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach, he walked to the entrance of the cave and peered out.

It was pitch black outside. The storm still raging overhead blocked out any chance of moonlight, throwing the world into darkness. Shouts echoed through the impenetrable night, the unmistakable sounds of men on a hunt. Excitement, thrill, and maybe a little fear. Dean frowned even deeper. Why the hell were humans hunting at night? And the even more important question: What were they hunting?

Dean glanced back at the empty nest and _knew_. 

_Dean Winchester, there are humans nearby_ , Castiel had said. _They killed a dragon not far from here, and if they discover me, they will not rest until I have been treated to the same fate_.

Shit.

Dean turned and ran back into the cave, scrabbling around in the dark for his bow and the few arrows he’d been able to find in the supply bins at the back. When he had those clutched tight in his hand, he sprinted back out to the beach. There, he saw the prey that the men from the nearby village were hunting.

_Castiel_.

He was wounded, Dean could tell that much. His staggering, limping gait was unmistakable. They must have hit his leg. As for his wings… Dean could tell from the crumpled, bent look of them that they had been netted. These men meant business. They weren’t trying to keep Castiel alive. They were going to kill him, maybe to sell his body parts later. Dean didn't know. All he was absolutely sure of was that if they caught Castiel, the dragon would have no chance of survival.

For some reason, that made Dean _mad_. It wasn’t that he liked Castiel. Hell, he hated the asshole. Castiel had dropped him. He’d betrayed his trust.

But Castiel was a dragon. Dean remembered the awe he’d felt in seeing him fly, remembered how incredibly majestic Castiel had seemed at that time. It seemed wrong to allow such a powerful creature to die in the mud, unable to even fight back because of a silver net. There was honor in killing a dragon with wits and strength, but only when the dragon was able to do the same. Azazel had died by grappling hook and spear, yes, but he’d fought for three days straight and had died honorably. These villagers weren’t about to allow Castiel the chance to do the same.

Also, Castiel had saved his ass. Saved him from Alastair and given him warm clothes and weapons to hunt for himself. He might have been an asshole, but Dean still owed him a blood debt. And he wasn’t about to let these grubby-fingered shit-shovelers from some no-name village get their hands on the dragon.

He drew back on the bow, arrow straining. The bow was old, the wood groaning with the effort, but it was sound enough. It had helped Dean take down more than a few deer and rabbits. If he really thought of it, these were just slightly different animals. Bigger and smarter and louder, but they bled and died just the same.

It seemed he hadn’t been wrong to trust the bow. Dean embedded his first arrow into one sprinting man’s chest.

Castiel stumbled, and Dean’s heart jolted. The dragon couldn’t fall. He needed to get to Dean, to at least get a wall of flesh between him and the crossbows the men had. If he fell on the beach now, there was no way he was going to survive.

Dean pulled another arrow back, letting it fly. He’d shot arrows with bows so many times he didn’t really have to think about what he was actually doing. It was second-nature, like breathing. Aiming, taking the wind into account, calculating the distance and movement and position… Dean could do all that in the space of a heartbeat. It helped that the men had torches. While Dean was a predator in the shadows, they were beacons of light. The perfect targets.

Castiel seemed to have seen him, though, his blue eyes wide with panic and shock. Dean gritted his teeth, irrationally angry at the men chasing the dragon. How _dare_ they make such a powerful creature feel such fear? Castiel was nearly to him, and as Dean fired another arrow, he came level with the prince. Castiel stumbled to a stop a few feet away him, panting and bleeding from his right leg. He dragged himself the rest of the way.

“Stay behind me,” Dean commanded, already nocking another arrow. He could see the men better now that they were all out in the open, their torches flaring painfully bright in the darkness. There were eight left, two of them dead on the sand. Perfect.

Dean fired again, the arrow finding its target in one of the men’s eyes. Dean spared no time celebrating. He knew that he'd pretty much lost the element of surprise at this point. The men were getting closer. His time was limited.

He missed his fourth arrow. The man he’d fired at was smart. He sidestepped the projectile, falling behind his charging companions as he dove to the side. The arrow missed by a mile.

Dean gritted his teeth, firing again. He was running out of arrows, and the men were starting to figure out there was an archer in the darkness. They were anticipating his shots. And they were getting closer.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed from beside him. It sounded more like a sob than anything. Castiel was pleading with him. Pleading him to not let him die.

Distantly, Dean was struck by how much this moment seemed like before, like when _he_ had been the one begging for mercy, only he'd been thousands of feet in the air. This time, _he_ was entirely in control of whether _Castiel_ lived or died. He could put the bow down and let these men take the dragon if he wanted to. He could probably even say he was the Prince of Lawrence, maybe get a ride back to his kingdom. He could see Sammy again.

And…

And he could sit in bed at night and wonder what had happened to the dark-haired, blue-eyed dragon he’d betrayed. He could wonder what it felt like to fly that fast again, could imagine what it was like to soar thousands of feet above the ground without fear. He could regret this for the rest of his life, or he could man the fuck up and put the past behind him.

Dean stepped forward, meeting the first man as he arrived.

There was no use using the arrows anymore. Dean swung the bow in a wide arc, the wood slamming soundly against the man’s skull with a sickening crack. Almost immediately, a boom of thunder followed. The rain had stopped, but the storm was still going strong. 

The guy Dean had taken out had been holding a crude spear of sorts. A sharpened stick, really. Dean grabbed it anyway, using it to gash a long line along the second man’s arm. _That_ guy was holding a sword. Dean wanted that sword.

He spun, jamming the spear into the first man’s chest as he reached forward, disarming the sword-guy with a flick of his wrist. He hacked a gash along the man’s throat without a second thought.

After that, it was only a sequence of actions. Dean spun the sword in his hand, fingers moving like lightning around the handle as he got a feel for the weight and length of the weapon. As the last five men came down on him, Dean swung.

Even though the sword was longer and heavier than he was used to, he still felt like fluid lightning as he used it. It had been way too long since he’d done this. It felt amazing.

As Dean fought, ducking and parrying, slicing through skin and tendons, he felt old muscles and instincts reawakening. There was a reason he’d been the best sword fighter in his kingdom.

Blood sprayed. Someone screamed. Dean hacked through a man’s throat, kicking at his chest. He fell to the sand with a thud. Dean’s eyes rose, searching out his next target, and then faltered as he realized there was no one else. Seven men lay dead on the sand around him, three more laying across the beach with arrows sticking up from various parts of their bodies.

Dean turned, panting, and found Castiel staring at him, fear and awe in his wide blue eyes.

“Dean,” he whispered. “That was… How-You… You killed them all.”

Dean’s chest was heaving with exertion and adrenaline. He was covered in blood, sword gripped tight in his hand, and he knew he probably looked insane. But he grinned at the dragon, unable to help himself. “Cool, right?”

Castiel swallowed, nodding as he looked over the dead bodies. “I-yes. Now… Now what?”

Dean sobered a little at the sight of some silver blood mixing with the red. “Now we patch you up. Then we drag these assholes over to their village and string them up for everyone to see.”

Castiel blinked. “String them up? Why?”

Dean looked him dead in the eyes, voice flat and brooking no argument. “To teach them a lesson. No one comes after you again. Ever.”

The cut on Castiel’s thigh was shallow. It needed stitches, but it wasn’t deep and would probably heal in a few days because of the dragon’s boosted healing. Castiel barely flinched when Dean expertly pierced his skin with the needle, easily sewing up the wound.

When that was finished, Dean started on the net.

He knew he should be angry with Castiel because of earlier, but he couldn’t contain the ache in his chest when the dragon flinched away from his hands. It was obvious that the net had really fucked with his head, and Dean couldn’t blame him. In many ways, Castiel had experienced something just like Dean’s fall to the ground. A total lack of control, an inability to decide whether he lived or died.

The dragon stayed relatively still as Dean slowly untangled the net. Though prince was careful, the net still cut his fingers to shreds. It was sharp and cruel, a weapon that had been designed by Lawrence itself a few years before Dean was born. He shuddered to think of it, shame sweeping through him with every one of Castiel’s little flinches.

Dean carefully pulled the tangled filaments off of the dragon’s little claw-hooks and the large talon on the very arch of his wing. He spread Castiel’s wing gently after he was finished with it, making sure there was nothing else caught. The dragon didn’t react, so Dean decided it was okay.

In the light of one of the men’s torches, which they’d set up nearby, Dean could truly appreciate how beautiful Castiel’s wings were. They started out black, like his scales in dragon form. Darker than the gaps between the stars. But near the edges of the wing-flaps, the black started to fade to sky blue, like his eyes. It was beautiful, like an inverted sunrise.

Dean untangled the other wing without a word.

After that, he cleaned and disinfected the little cuts the net had made. There really wasn’t much more to do after that.

“Time to go move the bodies,” Dean said, tossing the net to the side.

Castiel nodded. He hadn’t spoken since Dean had sat him down to stitch his leg closed. Shock, probably. Dean felt bad for him.

He stood, leading the way out of the cave, and helped Castiel pile the bodies into a small mound. The dragon shifted into his creature form, wings spreading wide when he finished. Dean watched as the dragon silently gathered the bodies in his front two claws, then glanced at him.

Dean held his breath, watching the consideration in those electric blue eyes. After a moment, Castiel knelt and offered his neck again.

Dean stilled, amazement and slight fear flickering through him. He knew _exactly_ what that meant, knew the apology and newfound trust hidden there.

Heart in his throat, the human stepped forward and slowly, slowly climbed on.

Castiel stood even slower, a gentle rise that contrasted greatly to the sudden movement from the beach earlier the day before. Dean still gripped tight with his knees, unable to help himself.

They started forward, moving across the beach and through the trees. Surprisingly, riding a walking dragon was like riding a really tall, really warm horse. As they continued along in the darkness, guided by Castiel’s night-vision, Dean found himself loosening, his body moving with the cadence of the dragon’s steps instead of fighting against each and every one.

It was smooth and gentle. Enjoyable, even.

Dean ducked a few low branches, hands loose and easy on Castiel’s scales. It was easier to trust the dragon on the ground, when the only distance he could fall was fifteen feet or so. 

_Maybe… Maybe one day, we could do this in the air too_.

Dean tightened his grip a little, something oddly warm stirring in his chest. That warm feeling stayed the entire walk through the dark forest.

Dean was almost sad to see the lights of the village appear through the trees. He’d enjoyed the gentle calm of their walk through the dark forest. Castiel had been right, though. The human settlement was only a few miles away.

Dean blinked, taking it in for a moment.

There were plenty of lights, though everyone seemed to be in their houses for the time being. There were horses outside, buckets and barrels and wooden posts. _Human_ things.

Dean was hit with a sudden wave of homesickness. He wondered where Baby was, if Sammy was taking care of her like he’d always made the kid promise he would. He wondered if Bobby missed him, if Captain Lafitte missed their early-morning training sessions, if they still had burgers in the Great Hall, if Ellen still cooked a special apple pie just for him.

His chest ached.

Castiel gave a low, gentle rumble, as if he knew what Dean was feeling. The human patted the dragon’s scales gratefully, jaw clenched against the tears that threatened.

“Alright, Cas,” Dean whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Let’s… uh, let’s get rid of these d-dead bodies.”

He helped Castiel neatly arrange the ten dead men across the dirt road, their bloody bodies already beginning to bloat. It would be impossible to miss. The villagers would find them in the morning.

Dean stared at the ten dead bodies — the ten dead _humans_ — that he’d killed, and felt his knees go weak. The adrenaline from before drained away suddenly, leaving him feeling weak and shaky. Gods, his head hurt. The ordeal from the day before, coupled with the recent fight he’d had…

Dean’s knees gave out. He expected to fall on his ass in the mud. Instead, he found a strong, warm, clawed foot supporting his lower back, keeping him from hitting the ground. Dean’s head lolled to the side, green eyes hazily finding concerned blue ones. Castiel had caught him.

“’S okay,” Dean slurred. “Jus’ tired.”

Castiel gave a soft, soothing rumble. He closed the talons of his right front foot over Dean’s body, his grip surprisingly gentle. Dean made a little noise of surprise as the dragon lifted him a few feet from the ground, pulling him against his broad, scaled chest.

Castiel was... carrying him.

Dean blinked sleepily, eyes wide with amazement as Castiel turned from the human encampment and slipped back into the dark forest. There was no more fear of branches hitting him, because Castiel shouldered most of it out of the way. The dragon held him gently, moving quietly through the forest.

When they reached the beach again, Dean saw the glittering lake and squirmed slightly.

Castiel looked down at him, his dragon face twisted in an expression that could only have been confusion. It would have been funny if Dean hadn’t been so out of it.

“Gotta get the blood off,” he explained, words slurring. “Itchy.”

It was true. The villagers’ blood was getting tacky as it dried. It was uncomfortable.

Dean staggered when Castiel set him down on the ground, the sand too soft for him to get good footing. He stumbled out into the water, flinching at a crack of thunder. The storm was still going, though it seemed less intense than before.

Dean got to where the frigid water was up to his knees, then fell forward onto his face, submerging himself in the cold water. He was content to just stay there, floating in freezing darkness, but that didn’t happen. He was plucked from the lake a few seconds later, Castiel rumbling disapprovingly. Dean blinked sluggishly at him, dripping wet and shivering, but clean.

Castiel huffed, smoke rising in the air, and then turned and carried Dean away from the lake. The torch they’d taken from the dead bodies was still burning inside the cave. Castiel stomped it out as he passed.

Dean expected to be set down in his normal place on the stone floor, so he was surprised when Castiel gently placed him in the soft nest. The wool and blankets that lined it made it comfortable, and he was too tired to protest. He watched sleepily as the dragon stepped into the center of the nest and began to circle like a dog. Eventually, Castiel flopped down, peering at Dean with soft blue eyes.

Dean gave him a drunken smile. “Th-Thanks,” he chattered. His clothes were soaking wet, and he was now starting to feel the chill of the night air.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed with disapproval. A moment later, a warm tail was nudging at Dean’s back, pushing the human deeper into the nest. The slope of the bowl wasn’t too steep, but Dean still stumbled over himself and flopped to the bottom of the nest with a groan, body aching. His muscles hurt from fighting and from clinging so hard to Castiel’s back earlier. He was exhausted.

Castiel grumbled and picked him up, tucking the human against his side. He curled a tail around him, effectively trapping Dean in a warm circle of scales and heat. Like this, his clothes would dry just fine. The human was too tired and out of it to protest. Dean nuzzled into the warm scales of Castiel’s side, surprised at how comfortable the dragon was. “Thanks, Cas,” he slurred quietly.

Castiel rumbled in response, tucking a wing over Dean. He’d effectively shielded the prince from all view. There was something innately protective about the gesture, which was fine with Dean, for some reason. He was too tired to really care.

Exhausted, the prince allowed his eyes to slip closed. He was warmer and more comfortable than he’d been in months, since before he’d gone on that stupid quest and gotten stolen by Alastair. Castiel made a really good pillow.

Dean fell asleep quickly and smoothly. Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten, the storm finally passing, clouds opening to allow the rising sun through. Castiel’s wing kept the sunlight out, allowing Dean to sleep comfortably in warm, safe darkness.

The dragon huffed contentedly, curled around Dean protectively. Castiel made sure that Dean was comfortable, gently adjusting his tail so he was supported. Soon after, the dragon joined the prince in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for being such incredible readers and people in general. You are all so beautiful and so amazing. See you all in the new year!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends! You didn't REALLY think I was going to make you wait for the next chapter, did you? ;) You'll have to wait for Chapter Nine, but this one is coming on schedule, like the New Year's gift never happened.
> 
> Enjoy some more fluff!

**Eight**

Castiel woke up with a soft groan.

His body hurt. His right leg, especially, pulsed with pain. Frowning, he shifted it to check the extent of the injury. Not too bad, but still enough to be an annoyance. What the hell had happened?

He peeled his eyes open to find blinding sunlight streaming through the lichen of the cave. Early afternoon, then. Outside, birds twittered. The air was uncharacteristically warm. Spring must have finally decided to arrive.

Castiel shifted to get up, then froze. He looked down, lifting his wing slightly, the movement slow and hesitant. His eyes widened.

Tucked against his body by his tail and his left knee was Dean Winchester. The prince was sleeping soundly, his soft snores reaching Castiel’s ears faintly. It was, quite frankly, adorable. Castiel felt a flutter of warm fondness flicker in his chest. Dean was sort of cute when he slept, his handsome face relaxed and his mouth parted slightly. Small, definitely. Beautiful… well, that was obvious.

Castiel shifted his attention, eyeing the little cuts on his own wings. What the hell... _oh_. All of a sudden, everything that had happened the night before came back and smacked him in the head like a sledgehammer.

Gods.

The villagers had attacked. Castiel had… his wings had been netted. He’d been completely helpless.

But Dean… Dean had saved him. Dean had been, in the words of Castiel’s older brother Gabriel, _fucking savage_. He’d killed ten men, seven of them with a sword in close combat. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. If Castiel remembered the warrior from last night, he had no trouble believing Dean had killed both Azazel and Asmodeus. The prince had been a whirlwind of steel and deadly precision.

The dragon curled a little tighter around the human, gratitude filling him. He remembered the fear that had been pounding through his veins last night. Dean had had the perfect opportunity to get revenge on him, to betray him and maybe even go home and forget about everything. But he hadn’t. He’d fought for Castiel at the risk of his own life.

Castiel wondered why that was. Dean didn’t owe him a gods damned thing. He’d pissed away any trust that had built between them in the weeks since he’d rescued Dean from Alastair. The dragon wondered, suddenly, why Dean had bothered with him.

Dean groaned, bringing Castiel back to the present. The dragon watched as the human stretched, wincing in pain at his sore muscles and the remaining injuries from the night before.

“Fucking shit,” Dean grumbled. Castiel couldn’t contain his snort of amusement. Dean glanced up, blinking sleepily at the dragon. “And fuck you. I feel like I drank an entire tavern’s worth of liquor last night. Gods be damned.”

Castiel shifted forms, his body shrinking and unwinding from around Dean. After a moment, he was just a human curled up next to the prince. “That is not entirely my fault,” he said. He sincerely hoped Dean wasn’t actually blaming him.

Dean snorted, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “Yeah, I know,” he replied, sending a wave of relief through Castiel. “I gotta find someone to blame, though, and you’re the closest.”

Castiel smiled to himself. He was glad Dean wasn’t angry. He'd been worried for a second.

The dragon stood, climbing out of his nest. While the night before hadn’t been all his fault, he could still be grateful to Dean for saving his life. The least he could do was find Dean some breakfast.

Thankfully, the prince was smart. He’d roasted the meat of the last rabbit he’d killed, and there was some stored in the bins Castiel had in the back of the cave. Most of the things back there had been taken from unlucky human travelers and abandoned, upended carriages. Castiel hadn’t bought them from any towns, and he hadn’t killed the humans he’d taken the items from, unless they attacked him first. He didn’t think he’d ever been really, _really_ close to a human other than Dean and the villagers from the night before.

Dean blinked in surprise when Castiel brought him some of his meat and a little leather satchel of berries. “Thanks, Cas,” he said, giving the dragon a tentative smile. It made Castiel’s chest warm.

Castiel didn’t even notice the nickname until a few minutes later. It really wasn’t too bad. If anything, it was kind of endearing. “Of course. I think I’ll eat with you today. I’m not too keen on going out into the forest right now.”

Dean nodded, frowning a little as he popped some berries into his mouth. He offered the bag to Castiel right after, which startled the dragon so badly he nearly dropped it. “Why were you out there last night, anyway? In human form, no less?” Dean asked.

Castiel winced, shoving berries in his mouth to stall for time. After a moment, though he was forced to answer. “I was trying to find you some food, actually. To apologize,” he admitted. “I ran into the villagers a few hundred yards into the trees.”

Dean blinked at him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he burst out laughing, startling Castiel badly. “Really? That’s... actually kinda funny. Thanks, I guess.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would appreciate the gesture,” Castiel said sheepishly. “I guessed.”

Dean grinned. “Good guess. Though pie would be the best way to apologize, food is definitely the way to my heart. I guess you can’t really get pie, though. We're out in the middle of nowhere.”

Castiel frowned, filing the pie part away for later. “I cannot. My apologies.”

Dean waved his hand. “That’s fine. Why were you in human form, though?”

Castiel winced. “I was foolish. I thought I could escape the humans’ notice if I was smaller. I didn’t realize they’d set a trap for me.”

Dean nodded, frowning. “They were definitely prepared. I think they saw us flying and decided to get you later. They were probably going to find your cave, but ran into you in the forest. They were… They were armed to kill, Cas. We gotta be careful.” 

Castiel ignored the warmth in his chest when Dean said ‘we’. “I thought your warning would be enough.”

Dean shrugged, looking contemplative. “Maybe. Hopefully. We’ll have to see.” He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of meat.

“If they decide to attack again, I have faith in your fighting abilities if I am indisposed,” Castiel said. He gave Dean a small smile. “That was incredible, by the way.”

Dean flushed deeply, looking away. “I-uh, thanks. I was always pretty good with a sword, I guess. Not as good as some people.”

Castiel shook his head. “I have fought on the front lines of the war for many years. I’ve seen some of the best warriors in the world, and none of them compare to your mastery of the sword.”

Dean blushed even deeper. It highlighted the green of his eyes. “I-uh, it wasn’t-It-I-ah, shit. It wasn’t even a good fit of a sword for me,” he muttered.

“Even more incredible, then,” Castiel replied warmly.

Dean looked like he was going to die of humiliation, so Castiel decided to spare him by ceasing his compliments. It didn’t stop him from deciding the prince was adorable when he blushed, though.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the lull of conversation calm and comfortable for once. It was a nice change to the charged air that had surrounded them ever since their first argument. Castiel decided that whatever had changed between them last night was for the better.

“So… uh, what now?” Dean asked quietly.

Castiel looked at him, taking in the tentative offer for peace that the human was extending. “What transpired between us last night wasn’t something we can ignore. I suppose we should stop pretending to be enemies,” he said flatly.

Dean blinked, shocked, and then burst out laughing. Castiel decided he liked Dean’s laugh. It was loud and warm, and it made him want to laugh as well. “Okay, I guess that’s out of the way. And… And after that?” the prince asked.

Castiel smiled. “Well, I suppose we can continue flying.”

Dean’s smile disappeared, sliding slowly off his face. “Yeah, uh, okay,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. Castiel frowned, something dark curling in the pit of his stomach.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “I just… uh, I don’t…” He trailed off awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You don’t trust me,” Castiel guessed, the dark feeling in his gut spreading to his chest. His fears were confirmed by Dean’s slight shrug. The prince wasn’t meeting his eyes, instead focusing on the food in his hands.

In that moment, Castiel sincerely wished he had never dropped Dean. He had never regretted anything more. Nothing. It had been foolish of him, and it had seriously hurt Dean. It had seriously hurt a lot of things.

Castiel could only pray he could fix everything before it was too late.

His eyes slipped closed, a flicker of self-hatred burning low in his gut. “Dean, I swear I will not drop you again. It was childish and immature of me, and I… I am very, very sorry.” He opened his eyes, looking sincerely into Dean’s green ones. “If it helps, it was never my intention to scare you so badly. I wouldn’t have done that if I… if I’d known how much you feared falling.”

Dean winced, still not looking at him. “Yeah, well… It’s… it’s gonna be hard for me to trust you again, buddy. Sorry.”

Castiel nodded understandingly, ignoring the pang of hurt in his chest. He deserved it. “That’s fine. I understand. If you’d like, we can take a break from flying altogether. For a while, I suppose. But… I really do think it will help us defeat Alastair. If you still mean to do it together, of course.”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course I do,” Dean said, eyes flicking up to Castiel’s for a split second before going back to the piece of meat in his hands. He sighed, looking uncomfortable. “I would like to, uh, take a break, though. Is that okay?”

Castiel nodded. He was just relieved that Dean still even wanted to work with him. “Of course, Dean. Is there anything else you can think of that we could do in the meantime?” he asked. “Other training? Or… Or not even training, if you’re tired. I suppose we deserve a day off after last night.”

Dean gave a little smile. “Yeah.” He glanced around, then looked down at himself, and gave a little snort. “Well, it seems pretty warm out today. I could do with looking a little less like a second moon. What do you say we explore the lake a little? Maybe get some sun?”

Castiel smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Hours later, Castiel floated in dragon form on the surface of the lake. His wings were spread wide, soaking up the warmth of the sun. On his back, Dean basked in the golden sunlight, eyes closed. Castiel’s back was slightly submerged, the water lapping gently at Dean’s sides. It kept him from getting too hot underneath the sun’s rays.

“This is pretty fucking fantastic, Cas,” Dean said from somewhere between Castiel's shoulders, his voice sleepy.

Castiel rumbled in agreement, flicking his tail a little to propel them away from the shore they were nearing. He wasn’t really trying hard to stay afloat. His widespread wings were keeping them buoyant, his slowly churning legs causing them to move slowly through the water.

The day was warm and pleasant, the birds chirping. The trees had tiny, barely noticeable buds of leaves. Spring, it seemed, had blown in on the storm from last night.

Castiel went for another turn around the lake, feet paddling slowly underneath the surface. The water was clear and calm, the bottom nearly visible all the way in the center. Fish flashed underneath the surface, silver and shiny. Castiel contemplated diving to catch a few, then decided against it. It wasn’t worth the effort, especially since fish wasn’t his favorite thing to eat. Besides, he quite enjoyed the warm weight of the human basking on his back.

Dean flipped over, sunning his backside now. His stomach pressed against Castiel’s ridge, expanding as he sucked in a contented sigh. “This is great. Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel gave him an affectionate flick of water with his tail, ducking his head under the surface to blow bubbles for a moment. He enjoyed this, the quiet peace that seemed to have descended between them. It was pleasant.

Whatever had happened with the villagers yesterday had formed a new bond of trust between the two of them, stronger than whatever Castiel had destroyed when he’d dropped Dean. The dragon hoped that in time, he could regain Dean’s trust in that area too. For now, though, he’d enjoy whatever this was.

Dean had explained to him that it was not good for his skin to be so pale. He’d called it ‘unappetizing’, which had confused Castiel slightly. Why would one _want_ to look appetizing? He’d brushed it off, though, content to allow the human to lay on his back as they sunned on the water. He couldn’t gain darker pigment to his scales like Dean could his skin, but he still enjoyed the warmth. It was a pleasurable experience.

“You know, humans have these things on horses that allow them to, like, hold on better,” Dean said after a while. At Castiel’s threatening growl, he smacked the dragon on the back with an open hand. “I’m not gonna put a _saddle_ on you, dumbass. I’m just sayin’. What if I could, I don’t know, tie myself to your back or something?”

Castiel frowned. He didn’t like that idea. He _definitely_ wouldn’t condone a saddle. But… well, the idea was one he should consider. If he could get Dean to feel safer in the air, it was a good thing. He had no idea how to do that without using something like a saddle, though.

He was shifting before he could realize it. In half a second, he was righting himself in the water, arms sweeping back and forth to keep himself afloat. His human form was much smaller and much more in tune with the temperature of the water. Castiel shivered.

Dean, who hadn’t been expecting the sudden change, splashed into the lake with an undignified yelp. He surfaced a few seconds later, spluttering. “Fuck, that’s cold! Warn a guy next time, Cas!”

“My apologies,” Castiel replied. “I wanted to speak to you. With words, I mean.”

Dean glared at him. To his relief, Castiel could see there wasn’t any real anger behind his gaze, just mild annoyance. “Well, tell me first before you dump me in the water. Can we talk somewhere that isn’t, I don’t know, the middle of the lake?”

Castiel snorted, nodding. “Yes. I’ll meet you back at shore.”

He flipped way, wings tucked tight to his back to keep his body as streamline as possible. Dean still beat him to the sand, movements sinuous and graceful in the water, lean body noticeably pink now that he’d spent time in the sun.

Once they reached the warm shallows of the lake, Dean sat down on the sand. The water rose to his waist, covering his extended legs. He splashed his hands around just to see the droplets fly.

Castiel sat next to him, digging his heels into the sand to anchor himself against the gentle push-pull of the lake’s currents. He reached down and grabbed wet sand, allowing it to sift through his fingers. “I understand your need for a tether,” he began, “but I will not, under any circumstances, condone a saddle.”

Dean nodded. “Can I ask why? Pure curiosity, promise.”

“Dragons are not pack mules. We are not beasts of burden. We are free and wild creatures,” Castiel replied. “Saddles would be demeaning. Any riders are demeaning, but we already moved past that.” He sighed, shoulders sagging, realizing he’d kind of proved himself wrong just then. “I suppose it wouldn’t be much worse to use a saddle, then, would it?”

Dean frowned. “No, but that doesn’t mean we have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Cas. If you don’t want a saddle, we don’t have to use one.”

Castiel turned to stare at the prince in amazement. Dean wasn’t looking at him, eyes focused on the way the water rippled when he moved his hands under the surface. He didn’t look up until the silence stretched to something uncomfortable.

“I… I appreciate that, Dean,” Castiel said, moved by how considerate the prince had been. “I don’t want you to fear for your life, however. I believe you mentioned… a tether? How is that possible?”

Dean winced. “I don’t honestly know. It would end up being like a saddle anyway. Just… Just forget it.”

Castiel frowned. “Dean-“

“No, seriously, Cas,” Dean said. He sounded sincere, his green eyes warm when he finally looked up at Castiel. “Don’t worry about it. I understand.” 

Castiel frowned. “This is a two-way interaction, Dean. I will not allow you to be uncomfortable either.”

Dean sighed, flipping water lightly in the air. “I guess I just need to get used to it,” he said. He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “Earlier, when we… Earlier-ah, never mind.”

“Earlier?” Castiel prompted, curious. 

Dean sighed. “Earlier, when we were going to return the bodies, I was pretty relaxed. The ride was nice. And yeah, I get that it’s different up in the air, but I figured it was _kinda_ the same, and I enjoyed it, which is weird, and I’m _really_ sorry if that’s like, offensive in some way, that wasn’t my _intention_ , but crap am I bad at-“

“Dean,” Castiel cut in, “it’s fine. What about riding on my back last night was enjoyable?”

Dean was blushing again, his entire face and ears red. “Uh, I guess it was smooth. Relaxed. I just kinda thought, well, maybe I could get to that place someday? We could?” 

Castiel smiled at the prince, pleased that he had experienced that. “Sure, Dean. I hope for that as well. We will have to practice, though.”

Dean shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s fine, Cas. I’ll just… Well, I’ll just… I’ll just have to learn to put my trust in you again.”

Castiel reached over and put a hand on Dean’s left shoulder, the skin warm and sun-kissed beneath his palm. “No, Dean,” he said firmly. “I will just have to earn it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys... used their words? And they didn't end up fighting? And they actually... understood each other? WHAAAAT? Anyway, the communication between these two characters is so much fun to write, you have no idea. 
> 
> Also, a HUGE thank you to the readers who have been telling me how much they enjoy the story! I've got my main friends, Taedyn, Why_do_you_want_to_know, and Steelcode, but I've also got some new friends too! Confused_SPN_Fan, Spinafex, meko_chan11, WarriorQueenViolet, Sas, FirewoodFlannel, kdm1280, heylazeh, and that one amazing Anon with the fantastic keyboard faces - Thank you so much! You have no idea how much your comments mean to me. You guys are FANTASTIC.
> 
> Alright, that's all I've got for today. See you on Wednesday!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear friends! I hope you're all doing well. I'm excited to share this chapter with you!
> 
> Also, an important note: I remember that someone said something earlier about wanting to see the boys get more... intimate. I seriously would love that too, but the problem is, I cannot (and definitely should not) write smut. I'm really bad at it, try as I might. I would totally put it in (not a LOT, but enough) if I could, but, uh, I can't. Sorry. :( If that's what you're here for... you might want to leave. Or stay for the fluffy parts, I don't know.
> 
> Just wanted to put that out there so there isn't any expectation. Sorry if I burst your bubble. I think Cas and Dean getting all sweaty is awesome too, but I can't find it in me to write anything more than kissing.
> 
> Okay, that's done. Now I'll stop blabbering so you can enjoy the story. ;)

**Nine**

It was several days after the villager attack before Dean considered flying again.

In that time, he spent the newly arrived spring days floating around the lake with Castiel, slowly turning his pale skin a warm gold again. The villagers, it seemed, had gotten the message. They didn’t repeat their attack, nor did they even come near the lake.

It was fun to spend time with Castiel, now that they weren’t at each other’s throats anymore. The days spent on the water were nice and relaxing. Probably the calmest days Dean had spent in years. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just _sat_ in one place, purely for enjoyment. It was a nice change.

Dean was allowed to sleep in the dragon’s nest at night, too, though he only used Castiel as a pillow when it was particularly cold outside. That was a nice change as well, because Castiel was warm and comfortable, and Dean secretly enjoyed his closeness. He'd gone too long without contact with another sentient being in Alastair's cave, save for Alastair himself, of course. Being around another person, being touched by them, was nice.

However, it couldn't last. While it was enjoyable to lounge around the lake all day, Dean wasn’t comfortable just goofing off while people fought and died. Just because he had decided to take a break, didn't mean the War on Syphon had decided the same. Because of that, Dean approached Castiel about a week after the nighttime attack, twisting his hands awkwardly.

“Hey, uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel asked over his shoulder. He was attempting to sort berries, frowning at the different variations and colors with an intensity that was nearly comical.

“When… When do you think we could go flying again?” Dean asked.

Castiel blinked, turning and looking up from the piles of berries. His blue eyes were wide with surprise. “We could go today. Only if you wanted to, of course.”

Dean sucked in a deep, steadying breath. “Yeah, I want to.” He prayed that Castiel would just believe him and that would be the end of the conversation.

Of course it wasn’t.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, seeing right through the lie. “I refuse to go with you if you are not fully comfortable, Dean Winchester. Your safety is my main concern.”

“What about the people who are dying right now?” Dean asked, pushing his shoulders back. “This is all about saving people, stopping the war. I’m not gonna sit around and let lives be ruined because I’m too much of a pussy-“

“The war has waited eight hundred years, Dean,” Castiel cut in, his gaze intense and heavy as it settled on Dean’s. “It can wait a little longer.”

Dean gritted his teeth, arguing despite the steel in Castiel’s words. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Castiel replied firmly. “Another week, another month… It will not matter in the grand scheme of things. Neither side is any closer to winning than they were half a century ago. If you need more time, we will wait.”

Dean was simultaneously angry and touched. Touched, because it was kind of Castiel to be willing to wait. Kind of him to be so patient and understanding. Dean was angry, though, because there were people _dying_. Hell, his little brother could be fighting for his life right now. Innocent lives were at stake, and they rested on Dean’s ability to man the fuck up and get back out there. He’d ‘rested’ for long enough.

“I know my limits,” he said, and that was true. “I know that I can handle this." That... was decidedly not true. Dean pushed on. "Besides, I’m not going be less afraid of flying if I'm staying on the ground. I need to face my fears, and that means getting back into the air.”

Castiel frowned, looking troubled. He seemed to be considering Dean’s words, which the prince was grateful for. That was one good thing about Castiel, out of many. He fucking _listened_. He didn’t just pretend to so that he could butt in with his opinion. He listened to what Dean said, considered it, and formulated what he was going to say next based on the information provided.

“Dean, I stand by what I said before.” Castiel held up a patient hand as Dean tried to protest, cutting the human off. “I understand that you feel obligated to push through this. I also understand that you know your own limits, better than I ever will. I will agree to this, but only if you _swear_ you will be honest with me in how you are feeling. I refuse to hurt you by agreeing to allow you to hurt yourself.”

Dean opened his mouth to try to speak, then found he couldn’t. His throat was fucking _tight_ , like someone had put an iron clamp around it. His eyes, too, were hot. It had been a long time since anyone had cared about his safety and security so deeply.

_What the fuck?_

Dean swallowed, forcing words out, ignoring how good it felt to have someone actually fucking _care_. Castiel was eyeing him closely, after all. “I agree to that, Cas,” he said. “I’ll be honest.”

Castiel watched him for a moment longer, blue eyes narrowed. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded once, slowly and firmly. “Very well,” the dragon said. “Let’s fly.”

Dean had to work hard to contain his panic when they got to the beach.

Castiel had insisted they eat breakfast before going out. That meant that the jerky and berries Dean had eaten were sitting heavily in his stomach, just _waiting_ for him to vomit them back up. He shivered, though the day was warm, trying to school his face to neutrality.

He’d found some leather armor in the back of the cave a few days ago. It didn’t fit him perfectly. It was a little loose around his waist. When he reached forward, he felt the strain of the armor on his back, his broad shoulders pulling on the surprisingly well-kept leather. The shoes, too, were too small. Dean had had to cut and sew the waist so it fit his own. He’d given up on the shoes entirely and just gone with the boots Castiel had given him a few weeks ago. They fit his feet and were sturdy, yet flexible enough that he didn’t have to worry about tripping and falling down a mountainside.

The leather armor was hot now, practically baking him underneath the spring sun. It was uncannily hot for a spring day. Dean wondered, distantly, how the farmers of Lawrence were coping with that.

He was broken out of his thoughts by Castiel stepping forward. “I’m going to shift now. Remember, shout at me if you want to land, alright? I'll be able to hear you, I promise.”

Dean nodded shakily. “Sure, Cas. We’re, uh, we're just circling the lake, right?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. I won’t go higher than a few feet off the trees, alright? If you see something I don’t, tell me. We’ll figure it out from there.” He paused, then sighed. “If we run into trouble, you’re going to have to trust me. Alastair knows I stole you, I think. If he or any of his soldiers see me, they will not hesitate to give chase.”

“You can… you can outfly them, right?” Dean asked, a little afraid of the mention of Alastair.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, nodding. “You will just have to stay low to my back and hold on tight.”

Dean nodded, hating that idea already. He just prayed they wouldn’t run into any other dragons. “Okay, Cas. I can do that.”

The dragon gave him a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine, Dean. I’m going to shift now.”

Dean stepped back, allowing him space to do so.

Castiel closed his eyes. A second later, his body started shifting. Dean would never get over how _smooth_ the transition was, how quickly the human before him grew into a large, beautiful dragon. The wings that sprouted from Castiel’s back when he was human grew larger, melting into powerful dragon shoulders. It only took a few seconds.

Castiel shook his wings and tail out when he was fully shifted, the joints extending and popping a little. He snapped his tail open and closed a few times, the spines and the flaps of skin between them flaring outward.

Dean swallowed nervously when Castiel turned to him. The dragon’s eyes were uncharacteristically soft, even as he knelt and offered his neck. Dean hurried forward, knowing that it was demeaning for the dragon to even _be_ in that position. It was ridiculous that _he_ of all people was having a problem with this. 

Dean used that, the fact that he shouldn’t be the one having problems, to help him work up the courage to throw his leg over Castiel’s neck. Powerful muscles flexed underneath him as Castiel started rising slowly and smoothly. 

Dean sucked in a terrified gasp as the dragon extended his wings, his heart kickstarting. _Fuck_. They weren’t even in the _air_ yet, and he was already panicking.

Castiel gave a rumble, the higher tone to it undoubtedly a question. Dean swallowed past his suddenly-dry throat, steeling himself. “I’m okay, C-Cas. I’ll be fine. L-Let's go.”

Castiel gave a soft, soothing rumble, then snapped his tail out. He crouched down, Dean flattening himself to the dragon’s back. His nose was only a few inches from the scales, his eyes squeezed shut.

When Castiel jumped into the air, Dean’s face slammed into the hard scales of the dragon’s back. The human yelped, his nose crunching painfully. When Dean slapped a hand to his face, he found that it wasn’t _broken_ , but it was certainly bleeding. Profusely. Dean wiped away some of the blood, watching with a sort of detached awe as the droplets got lost in the wind.

In the… in the wind.

They were flying.

Dean latched his hands onto Castiel’s scales as he remembered, legs squeezing harshly on the dragon’s neck. He was terrified for all of a second before he realized that…

Well... It really wasn’t so bad.

Castiel was flying low, his tucked claws only a few feet from the treetops. His wings were wide and horizontal, his tail the same. He was gliding, really, moving about as fast as Baby could run if she was really going at it. There was virtually no turbulence, and the wind was simply a firm breeze in Dean’s face.

He hesitantly loosened his grip on Castiel’s back, knees still gripping tight. There was still blood streaming down his face, some of the droplets snaking down his neck now, but he didn’t really care. Shit, he was flying!

Dean gave a little laugh, some of the blood from his bruised nose entering his mouth. It was salty and metallic, distracting him from his terror for a moment. “Cas, this is awesome,” Dean said, more to himself than anyone else.

Castiel rumbled approvingly, rising a few feet in the air. Dean fought the immediate urge to latch onto the dragon’s scales again. He instead lowered his hands and lightly hooked them into the gaps of Castiel’s scales, then sat up a little.

One good thing about his leather armor was the fact that it made him so _streamline_. Dean could barely feel the tug of the wind on his body, aside from what was already there. When Castiel lightly shifted direction, Dean leaned his weight to the side, moving with it.

Castiel gave an approving rumble, rising a little more into the air. They were now high enough for Dean to die if he fell. He didn’t really think he would, though. The edges of his pants caught on the hooks of Castiel’s scales. His fingertips were confidently latched onto the dragon’s body, and his grip with his knees was strong and firm. Dean tried loosening that experimentally, shocked when he found the turbulence all but melting away.

Castiel flapped his wings once, the muscles of his shoulders shifting behind Dean. He could feel the tendons and answering muscles underneath him. It was… amazing.

“Cas, your wings are pretty freaking cool,” Dean said, more to himself than to the dragon. He glanced behind them at the black-to-blue flaps of leather, a small smile twisting his lips. “They have a lot of stuff that goes into making ‘em work. It’s kinda awesome.” Dean blinked at the dragon’s tail, at the way it seemed to work with the wings to keep them afloat. “Actually, your whole system is awesome. This is amazing.” 

Castiel rumbled underneath him, the sound warm and pleased. Dean smiled, lowering himself to the dragon’s back instinctively as they rose in the air again. This _was_ pretty fucking cool, once he stopped being so damn scared.

When Castiel banked lightly to the right, Dean leaned into it instead of fighting the weight change. It was scary at first, to feel gravity tug at him from one direction, but he found that if he kept his knees locked into their place at the juncture of Castiel’s shoulders, he could stay pretty much in the same position. His grip on the dragon’s scales was relaxed. His muscles were still tense, his heart still racing, but it wasn’t _nearly_ as bad as before. In fact, it was kind of… fun.

Dean smiled, sitting up a little more. The wind tugged fiercely at his body now, but it felt nice if he thought of it a certain way. The speed of the wind through his hair was pleasant. His leather armor kept him warm, the sun a shining light on the ground far below them.

_Fuck, we went high_.

Dean felt a shot of anxiety go through him as he looked down. The ground was far, _far_ below them. Castiel’s wings were pumping behind him, alternating between gliding on the wind and keeping them aloft. His tail snapped open and bent closed in time with the rhythm, Castiel’s body moving to keep them flying high above the ground.

It was nice. It really was. But Dean couldn’t help imagining how high they’d gone before, how fucking _fast_ they had ascended. He hadn't even noticed how high they'd gone this time, but all he could remember was the weightlessness of his endless fall the first time.

“H-Hey, Cas?” he called. Gods, was his voice trembling. “Cas, c-can we please go down? Please? P-Please, Cas, just a little. _Please_.”

For a terrifying second, it seemed the dragon hadn’t heard him, or worse, didn’t care. Dean was about to shout, to start begging, but then Castiel’s muscles shifted underneath him and the wind lessened. 

They were… They were lowering.

Dean gave a little sob of relief, bending to press his face against the warm scales beneath him.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, Cas. Thank you f-for listening.”

Castiel gave a soothing rumble, one that lasted longer than usual. It vibrated through his entire body, up Dean’s legs and into his chest. The prince gave a wet chuckle.

They were heading for an outcropping of rock, a ledge about as big as the drawbridge that laid across Lawrence’s castle’s moat. Dean realized a split second before it happened that they were landing. 

He climbed off of Castiel’s back when the dragon knelt, lowering his body. Dean stumbled a little, unprepared for the sudden change in speed. It felt a little like climbing off a running horse and walking, expecting to go nearly as fast.

Castiel shifted before his eyes, shaking out his arms and legs when he was in human form. He blinked at Dean’s face, concern flashing across his features. “Dean! Your nose! Good gods, what happened?” 

Dean blinked, tensing with surprise as he suddenly found a dragon right in his personal space, warm breath ghosting across his throat, gentle fingers poking at the bruised area.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he said, resisting the urge to push the dragon away, or worse, pull him closer. “I-uh… I hit it on your back when we took off. It’s nothing.”

“Dean, it looks like you broke apart your skull,” Castiel replied, frowning. “There’s a lot of blood.”

Dean sniffled, trying to keep some of the liquid in his nose. “It’s fine. Really, Cas. I-Why did we land?”

Castiel pulled back, frowning at him. “You said you wanted to go down. We went down.”

Dean blushed, the wind whistling across the ledge of rock in the silence. “Oh. Uh, I only meant a little. Sorry for panicking on you. That must have been annoying.”

Castiel frowned deeper. “I asked you to tell me when you were uncomfortable. You did so. I… I appreciate that, Dean.” He gave the prince a warm smile, which sent all sorts of flutters exploding in Dean’s chest. “Was there a particular reason you wanted to go back down? Other than that I went way higher and farther than I told you I would, of course.” He frowned. "I'm very sorry about that."

Dean flushed with embarrassment. “No, you're fine, Cas, seriously. But... Yeah, I guess… I was just afraid of how fast we were going? Up, I mean. It’s… It’s stupid-“

“It is not stupid,” Castiel replied firmly. At Dean’s flinch, he softened, giving Dean a gentle smile. “It's not stupid. You were amazing."

Dean blinked. "Me? Nah... I didn't... I didn't do anything."

Castiel shook his head, that warm, gentle smile still on his face. "I was very surprised at how much you’ve adapted. You were very… light. I could barely tell you were on my back at all.”

“That’s good, right?” Dean asked, unsure.

“Very,” Castiel replied. “It was a pleasurable experience.”

Dean gave him a small, probably bloodstained smile. “I thought it was pretty awesome too.”

They stared at each other for a moment, basking in the warmth of each other’s smile. Castiel had really blue eyes, Dean realized. Blue, like a summer sky. They made something warm in his chest. It was peaceful here, Dean thought, on this ledge of rock, the earth warmed by the spring sun above. Wind whistled quietly through the silence, the breeze ruffling his hair.

“We should go back,” Castiel said after a moment, breaking the spell. Dean felt strangely disappointed when the dragon looked away, back at the miles of forest they’d flown over.

“Do you know where the cave is?” Dean asked. 

Castiel nodded. “We didn’t go far. Well, not far by dragon standards. I would imagine that on a horse, it would be quite the distance.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah. Dragons are _really_ fast. I’ve never gone that fast in my life.”

Castiel smiled, though he looked a little unsure. “And that wasn’t… a bad thing?”

Dean shook his head, giving the dragon a bloodstained grin. “Nope. Exhilarating and terrifying, but pretty fucking incredible too. I-thank you, Cas.” He paused, the gratitude in his chest expanding. “Seriously. That was incredible. _You’re_ incredible. The way your wings and tail work… I have-I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Castiel flushed lightly, which Dean found adorable. It made the tips of his ears pink. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean grinned, warmth flooding his chest. “Wanna head home now, hot wings?”

Castiel smiled, stepping away. He didn’t even seem fazed by the nickname. “Yes, Dean. Let’s go home.”

Dean watched him shift, feeling a little detached suddenly. He climbed onto Castiel’s back dutifully, careful to keep his face far from the dragon’s scales as they launched into the air again. The entire ride home, he was on autopilot. Castiel flew steadily underneath him, a solid, warm presence. Dean kept his grip light, moving with the air currents and the movements of the dragon beneath him. He did so with only half a thought, though, most of his mind focusing on the conversation he’d had with Castiel on that ledge.

Dean thought about the kindness and thoughtfulness of the dragon beneath him, the fact that he’d immediately listened to Dean and had even halted everything to land so he could check in with him. Dean thought about the warmth of the weird sort of connection between them. He thought about the light in the dragon’s beautiful blue eyes.

But mostly, Dean focused on what had been said at the end. 

He and Castiel had both referred to the cave as _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You guys are amazing.
> 
> Also, I've kind of hit a slump when it comes to writing. I always try to write my next fic while I'm posting the other one (this one is complete, I'm just exercising self-control so I don't post the whole damn thing at once), but I haven't been able to get any good ideas for my next story. Does anyone have any suggestions? I would love an A/B/O one, as I'm trying to write that kind of story, but I would take any ideas. And don't be shy if you think it's weird or whatever, I'm literally writing a fantasy story with a dragon and a prince falling in love. And you're reading it, so... ;)
> 
> Alright, I'm done. XD Thank you so much for reading! See you on Sunday!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, friends! I hope everyone is having a good weekend. I myself have been relaxing for once, which is nice.
> 
> This chapter is interesting. You'll see why. ;) It's necessary, for sure, though it may seem like a filler. I hope you enjoy it! :)

**Ten**

Castiel chewed on cooked meat that night, content to share with Dean. He liked raw meat better, but he found that the smoky flavor of cooked meat was pleasing as well. Besides, it was nice to dine with the human.

“Man,” Dean said, popping a few berries in his mouth. He shook his head. “I love all this nature shit, but it makes a person miss pie, ya know?”

Castiel frowned. “Pie?” He'd heard Dean mention it twice now.

Dean stared at him. “Yes, Cas. Pie.”

Castiel felt worry creep like ice into his veins. He’d tried his best to learn human customs over the past few weeks (“No, Cas, you cannot come with me to bathe!”, “Cas, watching a guy sleep is kinda creepy.”, “No, we are not _cuddling_. We’re _huddling_ for _warmth_.”), but he still sometimes got things wrong. It seemed ‘pie’ was yet another human thing he didn’t yet understand.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what pie is, Dean,” Castiel admitted. “Would you enlighten me?”

Dean pointed at him with a floppy piece of jerky, eyebrows drawn together like Castiel had personally wronged him. “That,” he said around a mouthful of meat, “is a crime.”

“I’ve committed a crime?” Castiel asked, chagrined. “Dean, I must tell you that was not my inten-“

“Cas, it’s not _actually_ a crime,” Dean said, shaking his head. “It’s just… wrong. Inhuman. How could you have been deprived of pie?”

Castiel frowned. “Pie is… not a crime?”

“No, but not knowing what it is should be one. Gods,” Dean grumbled. “Can’t believe you’ve never had pie. I’ll have to get you some.”

Castiel winced. “I don’t think they have pie in the wilderness, Dean.”

Dean laughed a little, which was a nice change to the glowering, offended look he’d had before. “True. I’ll have to go into a human village for that. Might need some bread, too.”

“Bread?” Castiel asked, frowning. “Why do you need bread?” He’d had bread before. He knew what that was. He hadn’t cared for it. Bread was tasteless and dry, and it stuck to the roof of his mouth if he wasn’t careful. He’d had some before going to rescue Dean, but only a little.

“I don’t _need_ bread, kinda like I don’t need pie. But it’s nice to _have_ , you know?” Dean asked. At Castiel’s expression, he sighed. “Look, Cas. You don’t need to eat your deer _right_ after you kill it, right?”

“Right,” Castiel replied. “But I prefer it fresh.”

“Yes!” Dean said, smiling. “That’s how I feel about pie. I don’t need pie, but I really, really like it.”

Castiel frowned, nodding. He was beginning to understand the gravity of this situation. He thought that maybe Dean was downplaying the importance of pie by comparing it to his own preference for fresh venison. It sounded as if this was something incredibly important to the human.

“It seems we need to get you pie, then,” he said seriously, looking up at Dean.

The prince blinked, then burst out laughing. Castiel frowned, wondering if he’d said something wrong again. A moment later, Dean stopped laughing and gave him a warm, affectionate smile. “Cas, you’re fucking awesome.”

Castiel felt his face heat. He gave Dean a tentative, shy smile. “Thank you, Dean.” Castiel cleared his throat, trying to disperse the traitorous heat on his face. “How… How might we formulate a plan to retrieve some pie?”

Dean grinned. “Oh, yeah. This is my kinda battle plan. You got any money?”

Castiel frowned. “What’s money?”

Dean blinked, then shook his head, smiling even more. “Oh, boy. You’re about to get educated. Come on, Cas. Let’s go see what you’ve got in those weird supply bins.”

He stood, jerky forgotten, sauntering off to the back of the cave. Confused and intrigued, Castiel could do nothing but follow closely behind.

The next afternoon, Castiel waited in the shadows of a cluster of trees, watching the dusty dirt road that led to the nearby human village. He twitched a little, nervous, and tried not to make too much noise. He hated to be in human form, especially so close to the humans, but he wasn’t going to just _leave_ Dean. If the prince made any indication that he needed help, Castiel would shift and charge in there without a second thought.

For now, though, he’d been told to just wait.

Dean had entered the village not long ago, human coins in hand. He’d explained that he was going to pose as a traveler, which wasn’t too strange in human culture. Dean had seemed confident in his ability to charm the local villagers.

Castiel checked the sun, wondering if the prince had been gone too long.

He was about to try to creep closer, maybe get a look into the village’s streets, when he heard footsteps. Castiel tensed, wings drawn tight to his back, the dagger that Dean had given him clutched tight in his hand. He listened, the footsteps coming closer. After a moment, they halted. Castiel barely dared to breathe, listening to the person standing only a few feet away.

“Cas?” a familiar voice whispered. “You there, buddy?”

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m here, Dean.”

He stepped forward, coming into the line of sight of the human standing just outside the cluster of trees. Dean was holding several boxes and bags. A long, silver line jutted up from behind his back. At Castiel’s frown of curiosity, the prince grinned. “Sword. Weighted perfectly, and the length is just right. Way better than the piece of crap we have back at the cave. I can finally train now.”

Castiel blinked, nodding. “That is… very good, Dean. Did you find the pie?”

Dean grinned. “Yep. You ready to head back?”

Castiel nodded. He took some of the boxes from Dean and turned, listening as Dean’s footsteps crunched through foliage as they moved back through the trees. “Was it a pleasant experience?” Castiel asked tentatively, wondering why he feared the answer. “Being around humans, I mean.”

Dean chuckled from behind him. “I forgot how suspicious they are. Everything I said was measured, and everything everyone else said meant something different than what they were actually saying.” He sounded a little sad, at the end. “I kinda hated it, Cas. Does that make me a bad person?”

Castiel frowned, both at the prince’s question and at the flash of happiness in his chest. “It doesn’t make you a bad person, Dean,” he said. “You have a right to feel the way you do. If being around humans does not please you, then that’s how it is.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, nothing more than shifting in the foliage behind Castiel. After a brief period of silence, the prince spoke again, sounding hesitant. “It’s… It’s not that I don’t like being around humans,” he said. “I just… I guess I’m not used to it. I can’t go back to that town, anyway. They’ve marked my face. It would look weird if I went through again, pretending to be another traveler.”

Castiel couldn’t contain his nod of agreement. “Good,” he growled.

That left him wondering, for the rest of their trek back to the cave, why he felt so possessive of the prince trudging along behind him.

Pie, it turned out, was a sort of pastry. Special bread was cooked into a bowl shape and then filled with sweet fruit and other sugars. Castiel tried some and couldn’t find anything about it that was so incredible, but the look of utter bliss on Dean’s face when he took a bite was worth it. Everything. Even the weird feeling of jealou-no, of _worry_ that had plagued Castiel when he had been waiting for the prince to return from the village.

Dean ate half the pie in one sitting, moaning obscenely at how good it tasted. “That’s the shit,” he said. He grinned dopily at Castiel. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel smiled. “Of course, Dean. I’m glad you liked the pie.”

Dean nodded, giving a satisfied sigh. For some reason, the knowledge that he’d made Dean happy made Castiel feel warm inside. It was a strange feeling, not one he was used to, but not one he deplored either. Castiel wondered where it had come from.

“The sky is clear,” Castiel remarked. He glanced out the entrance of the cave, eyeing the sky that was visible through the gaps in the tree line.

“When I lived in Lawrence,” Dean said, looking out the cave entrance as well, “I used to watch the sunsets with-uh, I…” He stopped, sighing, and then seemed to make a decision. “I used to watch sunsets with my brother on the tallest balcony of the castle. It was the highest point of the kingdom. You could see the land for miles.” There was a wistful tone in his voice that made Castiel simultaneously feel bad for him and want to smash something at the same time. He didn’t do that, though. He listened. Dean was smiling, a faraway look in his green eyes. “We’d come up with the most ridiculous names for the colors. My favorite was the blue at the very edges, where the night was starting to creep in. Sammy was always such a girl, so he liked the pinks and reds. Gods, I miss him.”

Castiel thought of Michael and Anna, Balthazar and Zachariah, Uriel and Raphael. They surely didn’t miss him. He wondered if he missed them.

“I watched sunsets too,” Castiel said, before he could think to stop himself. “With my brother, before he went to war. He hated humans with a passion, but he always said that the one thing everyone should agree on is the beauty of the heavens. My favorite color of the sunset was the green in the middle of all the blue and red and orange.”

Dean blinked. “I’ve never seen that.”

Castiel gave him a tentative smile. “You’ve got to be high enough in the mountains, that’s why.”

Dean winced. “Yeah. I’ve never been _super_ high, you know? I’ve always been told that’s dragon territory.”

Castiel shrugged. “You have a dragon with you now.”

It took Dean a second. To his credit, he did eventually figure it out. When he did, his eyes widened. “Won’t Alastair and his goons see us?”

Castiel smiled, spreading his wings. “I am specialized for flying at night, Dean.”

Castiel would later reflect that nothing in the world, nothing in his long, long life, had _ever_ compared to the feeling in his chest when Dean’s eyes lit up with joy. The brightness of those green irises was something that would stay with Castiel forever, come war or peace, sickness or death. Nothing could ever compare to that. Nothing.

“Let’s fly,” Dean breathed.

The flight up to the top of the Ryuu mountains was long. Castiel hurried, juggling the need to get there before the sunrise ended and the need to keep Dean comfortable and safe. He could feel the light weight of the prince on his back. Dean had yet to grip his neck with panic, so it seemed Castiel was doing a good job.

They passed under a few wispy clouds, the heavens opening before them. Castiel stayed as quiet as possible, keeping his eye out for any dragons that might be flying around. If they heard his wingbeats, there was a chance they wouldn’t be able to see him. He hadn’t been lying. He was built for night travel.

Castiel remembered training with Lucifer and Michael, how Michael had laughed at Castiel’s uselessness in the snow. _He’d be seen from miles away!_ Michael had cried. _He’s absolutely useless for stealth. And forget flying in the day. Castiel looks like a giant, misshapen crow. The humans would see him in a heartbeat_.

Lucifer had flicked a spike from his tail at their older brother, teeth bared in warning. _Castiel will be the perfect ambush soldier. Think about how invisible he will be when night falls. You, Michael, are stained a yellow so ugly you couldn’t hope to blend in anywhere_.

If Castiel remembered right, his older brothers had then gotten into another fight. It happened often.

His childhood had been a series of endless arguments, between his brothers and between his parents. Naomi was a distant mother, and Chuck disappeared about halfway through Castiel’s first century on earth. That left Michael, the firstborn of the two eldest twins, to try to manage a flock of young, fledgling dragons. It had been chaos. It was a wonder Castiel didn’t turn out differently. He still wasn’t entirely sure he was completely sane.

_I am, after all, flying to the top of Eden with a human prince on my back_.

Castiel shook off the thoughts, flying just a little faster. Dean’s grip tightened accordingly, the prince lowering himself to Castiel’s back to reduce drag.

They reached Eden in a few more minutes, the wind whistling softly along the tabletop mountain peak. It was wide, about half a mile in radius. The rock was lush with ferns and plants underneath Castiel's claws when he landed. Dean slid off, landing with a quiet thump on the ground.

Castiel shifted out of his dragon form, coming to stand next to Dean. The human was staring upward, jaw slack with awe, eyes wide as he took in the heavens spread out before them. They’d missed the sunset, but that was okay. Somehow, the night sky was better.

“I used to come here with my brother all the time,” Castiel murmured. “We would sit here for hours and talk.”

“Your brother?” Dean asked. “You mentioned you had brothers before. Which one?”

Castiel smiled ruefully. “His name was Gabriel. He was probably the only brother I agreed with, besides Gadreel. Both of them fell in the war.”

Dean frowned. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel sighed. “Yes. Lucifer died in battle as well.”

Dean shifted a little, uncomfortable. “They couldn’t have been… anyone I might have fought, right?”

Castiel shook his head. “Lucifer died a long time ago. Centuries before you were born. Gadreel was killed as a human.” He shuddered a little, thinking of his older brother’s fate. “He was kidnapped, much as I might have been by those villagers. The humans tortured him for information, then sent him back to us when he was too broken to speak coherent sentences anymore. My kind marked him as a traitor for divulging information and cast him out. He died alone.”

“Fuck,” Dean murmured. “That’s harsh. On both ends. I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel frowned. “It was not your fault. I appreciate your sympathy, however. Gadreel was an honorable dragon. He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.”

Dean shook his head. “No, doesn’t sound like anyone would. What happened to Gabriel?”

Castiel winced. “He was the most recent. Died eleven years ago, during the Battle of North Sea.”

Dean flinched. “Yeah, that one was… I heard that one was brutal. I’m sorry to hear that, Cas.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring up at the overarching heavens above them, thinking of the war. Castiel agreed with Dean. The Battle of North Sea _had_ been brutal. It was difficult to tell which side had won, though both claimed they were the victors. Privately, Castiel thought neither had won. The amount of death and bloodshed had been staggering.

“I have one brother,” Dean said, after a period of silence. He sounded halting, as if he wasn’t sure if he should be speaking of such things. Castiel wondered if he realized he’d already mentioned him once before. “His name… His name is Sammy. He’s fucking awesome.”

Castiel glanced over when he heard the emotion choking Dean’s voice, the way it thickened his words. The prince was looking up at the stars, silver lining his eyes. “He sounds very special, Dean,” Castiel murmured quietly.

“Fuck yeah, he is. Sweetest kid I ever met,” Dean said. His voice was soft and wistful, the tears in his eyes making them gleam like little galaxies in the light of the stars. “He-uh, he’s younger than me. When Dad would get into the wine and rum and shit, I used to protect him. Got to be the same when we became old enough to fight in the war. I used to go to crazy battles and kill all kinds of dragons in all kinds of ways, if only to appease my Dad so he didn’t try to force Sammy to do the same.” Dean took a shuddering breath, the tears in his eyes breaking and slipping down his cheeks silently. “I figured, if Dad was focused on trying to get me to be better, he could ignore Sam and give him a chance at a normal life, you know?”

Castiel beheld the human in front of him, awed and amazed at how brave and caring one being could be. “You sacrificed yourself for your brother?”

Dean sniffled a little, wiping fiercely at his eyes. “Yeah. I hated my childhood. I know that sounds ungrateful, but after Mom died, it was just an endless string of training and fighting and getting hurt. I figured out pretty early that if I could get Dad’s attention on me, he ignored Sam. It was the best I could do.”

“Dean, that is very honorable of you,” Castiel said quietly.

“Is it?” Dean asked, turning to look at Castiel finally. The dragon found himself speechless at the raw emotion in Dean’s eyes. The fear and desperation, the broken sadness. “Is it? Cas, I just admitted to you that I killed all those dragons because I was _scared_. I was scared of my Dad hurting my brother, and I was scared of him hurting me. I’m not a hero. I’m a coward.”

Castiel moved before he could think to do anything different, grabbing Dean’s face in his hands as gently and as firmly as he could. “You are a hero, Dean Winchester. You are the farthest thing from a coward I have ever beheld,” he said quietly, fiercely. He needed Dean to understand this. He needed the human to _get it_. “You’re one of the most honorable beings I have ever known. What you did for your brother… That is incredible.”

Dean’s eyes had gone wide, the forests and valleys in his irises staring into the oceans of Castiel’s. “Cas,” he breathed, the ghost of warm air brushing across Castiel’s lips.

“You are a hero, Dean Winchester,” Castiel said again, quietly. “And I promise to do everything in my power to make sure your brother never has to fight as you have had to.”

Tears welled and broke in the prince’s eyes, matching the silent few that had managed to creep down Castiel’s own face. The dragon made no move to brush them away, too focused and entranced with the prince he held in the palms of his hands. Dean’s eyes were _beautiful_. His soul was beautiful. More incredible than any star or galaxy, any twilight or dawn.

Dean and Castiel stared into each other’s eyes for untold minutes, the moon and heavens wheeling slowly across the sky above them.

Hours later, when they’d had their fill of the stars and had flown home, when Dean was tucked up against Castiel, fast asleep, the dragon stayed awake and wondered.

He wondered at the connection he’d felt to Dean. He wondered at the light in the prince’s eyes, the beauty he’d found in those green irises. Castiel wondered at the unbelievable honor and bravery that lay beneath the surface of the prince’s sarcastic, fiery exterior.

Most of all, Castiel wondered about the last part of the night, when he’d held Dean’s face in his hands and had breathed the same air as him.

Castiel wondered about the urge to press his lips to the prince’s, just to see how he reacted, to see how he tasted, how he felt.

He stayed up wondering, long into the night, watching over the human tucked against him with the silent vigilance of the mountains and the ceaseless, endless stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I was laughing when I wrote the 'It seems like we need to get you some pie'. All I could think of was Castiel saying it in his super deep, super serious voice. It would be hilarious.
> 
> Also, a tribute to the beautiful Idaho sunsets. I used to live in Eagle, and I remember looking up at the sky and being absolutely awed by the majestic beauty of all those colors. Yes, there was green. There was also yellow and pink and purple and deep, deep blue, and everything in between.
> 
> I hope you like the story so far. I have an idea for the next story I want to write, I think. We'll see if I stick with it. I often get kind of far in a story, realize I hate it, and delete it. Believe it or not, that's what happened to this one before I pulled it out of the trash and cleaned it up a little. Whatever you think of it, thank you for reading! See you soon! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends! It's so good to see you again! :)
> 
> This chapter is... fun. Yes, very fun. Also, have any of you ever done that thing where you write and put a lot of time and effort into a story, then read back over it halfway through and think that it's absolute shit? Yeah... I have a HUGE problem with that. :'(
> 
> Anyway, still struggling to get the next story written so there won't be as big of a wait between fics. We'll see. I also get to participate in the Profound Bond Gift Exchange for the first time ever this year, so I am SO excited about that! I've never done a gift exchange. I'm nervous.
> 
> Alright, I'll stop blabbering. Enjoy the chapter!

**Eleven**

_The longbow had a crack in it._

_Dean, still reeling from his fall off Baby, squinted at the enormous split along the top limb, starting from the riser and extending at least six inches. No small amount of panic was flooding through him._

_The dragon had attacked out of nowhere, bombing the procession of humans traveling through the mountain pass. Many of the horses had spooked. Baby definitely had when the fire caught on one of her saddle bags. Dean managed to beat it out, but the off-balance position of his seating meant that when the dragon roared and Baby took off, Dean fell right off her back and nearly got trampled to death by Benny’s horse._

_Everyone else who hadn’t been blasted apart by the dragon’s fire was running, hundreds of yards away now, horses braving the steep mountain pass at speeds that could only be explained by panic._

_Dean was alone._

_He’d looked around, still disoriented from his fall, and found the longbow and the scattered quiver of arrows. Some of the supplies from the horses’ bags had fallen to the ground. Alongside the bow and arrows, there were also several clubs and axes, as well as a few cans of food. Dean’s sword was still in its sheath on his back. It was a comforting weight, though the prince knew from experience that swords did little against dragons in flight._

_He grabbed the longbow instead._

_Dean could still hear the thundering of the dragon’s wings, the sound echoing off the mountains. The dragon was still nearby. Dean climbed up to the highest part of the little mountain peak he was on, Syphon looming enormous and dangerous only three peaks away. He needed to find this motherfucker and take him out before he targeted the group of escaping humans again._

_When Dean looked down, he found Asmodeus pounding his way up the mountainside, heading straight toward him._

_The dragon looked truly enormous, his ugly face even more hideous now that Dean was seeing him straight-on. He’d only seen Asmodeus once before, during a battle over on the Northern Crest. The dragon hadn’t stayed long enough for Dean to try to kill him, but he’d certainly made an impression. With his enormous size, blinding white scales, and incredible firepower, Asmodeus was easily one of the most dangerous dragons on the battlefield._

_And he was coming straight for Dean._

_It had been two years since Dean had bled out Azazel on the mountainside of one of the smaller peaks of the Ryuu range, the dragon king’s silver blood running like rivers through the dirt. Dean had expected repercussions for doing so, and it seemed the day of his reckoning had come._

_Dean knelt at the top of the peak, cracked longbow in hand, single arrow notched in the slack string. He could see straight down the mountainside, straight down where Asmodeus was thundering toward him._

_To the day, Dean couldn't form words to describe what it felt like to see that. To see the sheer size of the beast coming toward him, the hatred that burned hot in golden eyes so similar to the dragon he’d killed two years ago. Azazel and Asmodeus shared the same golden yellow to their eyes. Dean still didn’t know why Alastair wasn’t the same._

_He looked down at the Prince of Hell thundering toward him, and he knew he was going to die._

_He would only have one shot. He needed to make it perfect, needed to calculate and fire just right. He knew he likely wouldn’t survive this encounter, but he needed to make sure he killed this bastard before he had a chance to try to go after Sammy. Dean knew how dragons worked, knew how important bloodlines and siblings were to them. This was the second-eldest of the three Princes of Hell. He would go after Sam to pay for his brother’s death after he did away with Dean._

_At least, if Dean allowed him to._

_As Asmodeus barreled toward him, wings pounding the air in a deafening drumbeat, Dean drew back on the bow. It groaned in his grip, the crack widening beneath his left hand’s fingers. Dean knew he only had a few seconds before the damned thing snapped._

_It was lucky Asmodeus was moving so quickly._

_The dragon was pounding his way up the cliff, long body arcing to accommodate the curve of the mountainside. His wings were huge, easily bigger than some of the towers in Lawrence’s castle. They beat the air into swirling mini-tornadoes, flattening trees and bushes again the mountain as they passed. The echoes of Asmodeus’s wingbeats thundered all around the surrounding mountains, a hellish drumbeat of death._

_Dean drew back harder, the arrow straining, his muscles beginning to tremble with the effort of keeping the string tight._

_Asmodeus opened his mouth, only a few hundred yards away now. The back of his throat glowed a brilliant orange._

_He was moving so fast that it only took a few seconds for him to reach Dean. In that moment, several things happened._

_Dean was battered by the intense wind of the dragon’s passing, the force almost enough to knock him from his perch. He fired his arrow anyway, desperation causing him to quickly recalculate and release. Asmodeus thundered past him, flattening Dean to the mountainside with the force of his wings._

_Dean remembered laying on the ground, expecting to be roasted alive. The wind was incredible, the pressure on his ears painfully intense. He couldn’t hear a thing past the thundering roar of rushing air, his eyes squeezed shut, body curled into itself._

_Then there was nothing. Silence. Whistling mountain air._

_Then a crash, something absolutely gigantic striking the ground with great force. It jolted through Dean’s bones, through his body, rattling his teeth in his skull. He opened his eyes wide, shock lancing through him as he took in the great white dragon spread across the mountain behind him._

_The arrow, it seemed, had found its target in Asmoedus’s left eye. It had pierced straight through to his brain, killing him mid-flight. Asmodeus hadn’t released the fireball glowing in the back of his throat, so when his body collided with the earth, lava dribbled from his slack jaws. It was an awe-inspiring sight, one that would remain with Dean for the rest of his life._

_The prince was allowed only a minute of relief, of victory._

_Then the second, quieter twin of those hellish wingbeats reached his ears, and Dean understood that he was not meant to survive that day._

_He was almost unsurprised when Alastair’s claws clamped around his shoulders and lifted him into the air, carrying him away from the earth and the life he’d known in the space of a single heartbeat._

Castiel claimed that the daily flights they were now going on, flying higher and farther every day, were good for his strength. He told Dean over breakfast one morning, face red with embarrassment, that he hadn’t exercised in a while and that all the flying was doing him good.

Dean, for his part, gained nothing but lightly toned legs from the constant flying. He was left to get the rest of his body up to speed by doing other training.

His journey into the village had cemented the fact that the villagers were terrified of the dragon that lived on the lake, which meant they wouldn’t be venturing out to bother Dean while he trained. It seemed that killing ten of their best fighters had served to subdue them, probably until Castiel eventually left and headed back to wherever he actually lived when he wasn’t hiding from a murderous king.

Thinking of Castiel leaving, of him returning to his normal dragon life, did awful things to Dean’s chest that he would rather not think about. In fact, he was beginning to get accustomed to that feeling. It invaded his thoughts every time Castiel spoke about his past with a wistful tone. It was obvious that the dragon missed his life.

_And why shouldn’t he? You miss Sammy. It’s the same thing._

It didn’t feel like the same thing. For some reason, the thought of Castiel returning to his normal dragon life and forgetting completely about Dean was heart-wrenching. It hurt. Dean didn’t know why, and he was honestly scared of the emotions and thoughts swirling around in his head. To cope, he shoved them down and forced himself to forget about them each time they surfaced.

The human instead focused on running and training in the forest, now that he knew he wasn’t in danger of being attacked by angry villagers. He did pull-ups on trees and lifted logs and rocks that he found, running for miles around the lake at a speed that Sammy would be proud of. Slowly, Dean regained the muscle mass he’d lost in Alastair’s cave.

The days spent lounging on the lake with Castiel were helping, too. Dean regained color to his skin, the familiar golden tone taking the place of ugly, fish-belly white. Dean had freckles again, too. Castiel told him as much, asking with amazed eyes one night what the splattering of spots on Dean’s nose were.

Overall, Dean was almost in better health now than when he’d been a simple crown prince. It was odd to think about. If Dean really wanted to analyze, he guessed he could put a lot of it on the fact that he wasn’t constantly training and fighting. Without John breathing down his neck, he could be safe and healthy. Being with Castiel was intense, yes, but it was also fun and relaxed. Between training sessions and flights that made Dean’s knees weak with terror, there was also time to go to Eden and watch the stars, to lounge around in the sun on the lake, to see who could catch more fish in a shorter amount of time. Castiel always won that last one, partially because he scared all the fish away from Dean’s hook when he dove in with his enormous wings and tail.

Yes, being with Castiel was nice. Dean was probably the most relaxed he’d ever been.

He was cutting his hair one day a month or so after the first night on Eden’s peak, squinting at his reflection in the mirror as he struggled to shave the hairs at the side of his head evenly with his dagger, when he saw Castiel come up behind him.

The dragon’s wings were high in a display of tentative excitement. It also doubled as an invitation and something Castiel did when he was about to ask Dean if he wanted to go fly. It was getting easier to read the dragon, now that Dean bothered to look and listen. He could communicate with the dragon when they were flying. It had become pretty much second-nature, understanding the different rumbles and noises Castiel made when in dragon-form.

He put the dagger down, figuring his hair looked good enough. Dean turned to look at Castiel, smiling as the dragon came to a stop behind him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas,” Dean said, brushing away the stray hairs on the stone floor. “What can I do ya for?”

Castiel smiled. “I was wondering if you wanted to explore a little with me. We could train maneuvers as well. It’s cloudy today, probably going to storm soon. The darker clouds will help me blend better.”

“You don’t have to convince me, Cas,” Dean said. “Besides, we’ve flown in sunnier conditions and been fine. When do you want to head out?”

Castiel glanced behind them, at the sun and the position of the shadows just outside the cave. “Probably now. I was intending to go for a longer flight, so we could perhaps see the sunset.”

Dean smiled. He liked that idea a lot. Watching the sunset with Castiel was calming. “Sure. Let me get my bow. Maybe we can practice shooting from your back again.”

They’d been focusing on that for the past few weeks. Dean was getting really good at it. It was a lot harder than shooting from a horse’s back. The wind was more intense, the speed faster, the amount of things Dean could accidentally hit greater. He’d nearly clipped Castiel’s wing the first time he’d attempted to shoot perpendicular off the dragon’s back. It was better to fire at an angle, he’d found. It had taken a while to get it down.

Of course, shooting from Castiel’s back meant that Dean had to be completely comfortable taking his hands off the dragon’s scales entirely. It was quite the development in their relationsh-uh, friendship. Quite the development in their friendship. Lots of trust. Yeah.

Dean cleared his throat, adjusting the shoulders of his leather armor. He slung the bow and the quiver of arrows across his back, going to meet Castiel out by the lake.

The dragon was right. The sky was a dark gray, clouds heavy with rain. They’d flown in rain before. Dean’s grip had slipped multiple times on Castiel’s slick scales underneath the torrential downpour. He had barely noticed at the time, too focused on laughing at how loud Castiel’s wingbeats sounded when his wings were wet. It was a pleasant memory.

Dean’s entire life seemed full of those, lately.

He found Castiel waiting for him at the beach, already in dragon form. Dean needed no invitation to jump onto the dragon’s back, though he waited for one. He figured it was respectful, and he found himself wanting to respect Castiel these days. Not because he had to, or because the dragon could possibly kill him, but he because he _wanted_ to. 

Dean’s knees easily found their normal spot at the juncture of Castiel’s shoulders and neck. The dragon lifted fluidly, Dean rising with him without a hiccup. It was truly amazing, how smoothly they flowed together.

Dean lowered his body near Castiel’s back as the dragon launched into the air, though he was careful to keep his face far from the dragon’s scales. He’d learned his lesson that first time he’d cracked his nose.

Castiel circled a few times over the lake, getting used to the wind and the direction of the air currents. Then he turned and began to fly toward the looming Ryuu mountains in the distance, wings pumping easily through the air. 

Dean had learned over the years that dragons had certain things about them that made them specialized in certain things. Asmodeus, with his wide wings and clubbed tail, enormous body and thick horns, had been a fighter. Alastair, with his long neck and narrow head, was most likely perfect for raining fire down on his enemies. Castiel, with narrow, sleek wings and his tail, was a fantastic flier. It was easy to tell as they made their way to the mountains, a journey that would have taken several days on horseback becoming only an hour by dragon.

Dean blinked down at the forest below them, wiping at some of the tears that had gathered in his eyes because of the wind. It was becoming easier to see, but when Castiel went really fast, Dean was only able to close his eyes and duck his head.

“Wanna go over some of those maneuvers again?” Dean shouted into the wind. “We’ve got a few miles ’til we reach the mountains.”

Castiel rumbled approvingly, flaring his tail wide in a motion that both slowed them and also balanced his body in the air. Dean had only a few seconds to read the flick of the dragon’s ears before he was rolling his weight to the left, moving seamlessly with the dragon as they spiraled through the air. Castiel flared his tail once, and they flattened out.

After that, Castiel pounded his wings as hard as he could, the _boom_ echoing in Dean’s ears as he tucked himself tight to the dragon’s back. There was a moment of terrifying weightlessness, gravity dragging Dean straight to earth, and then Castiel’s body was beneath him and they were coming out of their upside-down curve.

Dean went along with a few more barrel rolls and other maneuvers. He didn’t know the purpose of them, but he figured they were important. If nothing else, they were a way for Castiel to show off how easily he could move through the air.

They reached the Ryuu mountains in a few minutes, Castiel leveling out with a rumble of warning. Dean had enough time to tighten his core and his grip on the dragon’s back before they were lowering, tucking into a gentle dive.

Dean recognized where they were going. They’d been here before, a little tabletop where Dean had set up various targets. Castiel would fly by, and Dean would fire arrows from his back.

Castiel gave a little growl, more of a check to see if Dean was paying attention than anything. Dean responded by pulling his bow from his back, the string twanging as he checked it.

Dean straightened slowly as they neared the tabletop, Castiel’s speed increasing to make it more difficult for Dean to aim. Dean could feel the wind tugging at him fiercely as he sat up, his whole upper body dragging against the force of Castiel’s flying.

Dean grabbed an arrow, keeping his fingers tight around it as he drew back, the bow bending with the force of his draw. There was a brief second of absolute calm in Dean’s world, where Castiel’s wings beat perfectly in sync with his heart and the whistling wind seemed to fade away. Dean released the arrow, the bow’s snap reaching his ears through the pounding ruckus of everything else around him.

Dean immediately lowered himself to Castiel’s back as the dragon dive-bombed past the targets, sweeping low over the trees before arcing up to circle back around.

Castiel flew slow past the targets this time, allowing Dean to squint at the one he’d fired at. Dean laughed aloud. “Bullseye. Fuck yeah!”

Castiel rumbled approvingly, flicking his ears in congratulations. His frill wasn’t as tight to his head now that they weren’t flying so fast, allowing his ears room to move. Dean still found the dragon’s ears fascinating.

Dean pulled another arrow out of his quiver, going to load up again. He looked up, not really thinking much of it, and felt his heart stutter to a standstill.

Above them, silhouetted against the dark thunderclouds, was a huge silver dragon.

And it was flying straight toward them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO YOU REMEMBER THE SPEED ROLLERCOASTER? I hope you do. Things are about to get MESSY.
> 
> I have a full-length essay on history of the modern world due at eight. We write the whole fucking (excuse my French) thing in class (sixty minutes, I shit you not) and then turn it in. I have done ZERO studying. That's also the one class where my grade is struggling.
> 
> WHOOPS. Better go study now. See y'all on Monday! ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends! I hope you're having a happy Monday. I have the resolution to that cliffhanger for you. ;) Also, kdm1280, you're freaking hilarious and you very nearly made me post this early. DON'T DO THAT AGAIN, I HAVE REALLY BAD SELF-CONTROL.
> 
> ALSO, a note: Anything spoken in quotations and then italics is dragon-talk. The dragons are communicating through growling, roaring, wing position, tails, etc. Dean cannot understand. It looks like "/italic text/."
> 
> Okay, I'll stop talking so you can read. Enjoy! ;)

**Twelve**

Castiel heard the faint echo to his wingbeats before he heard Dean’s shout of warning. By the time the prince had cried out a warning, Castiel was already wheeling around, blue eyes flying wide as he beheld what was flying toward them. Well, not what. _Who_.

Castiel flared his wings, banking _hard_.

He could feel Dean nearly lose his grip, the human shouting with surprise and fear. Castiel couldn’t even slow down to make sure he regained his footing. They needed to get out. Now.

In all his years, there were only two dragons who had ever even come _close_ to matching Castiel in flight. One was his dead brother, Gabriel. The other was Ishim, his fellow commander and a dragon he had risen through the ranks with in the garrisons. It was Ishim who now pounded through the air toward them, silver wings flashing like a fish’s scales in the murky dimness of a lake.

Ishim was not only larger and stronger than Castiel, he was also older, which meant he had more experience. Though they’d been the same rank in the garrisons, Ishim had been far superior to Castiel when it came to fighting. In fact, the only thing Castiel had ever outmatched him in was flying, and that had been back when he’d been in shape, used to flying hundreds of miles every day and still having enough energy to get into a firefight with humans.

With how soft he’d gotten, training flights with Dean or not, there was no way he was going to be able to outfly Ishim.

Panic flooded Castiel’s bloodstream as he realized there was no way out of this. Of all the dragons to spot them, it seemed it was the only one who could have managed to catch them.

Castiel ducked underneath a rock spire, banking toward the mountains. He hoped to lose Ishim in the twisting canyons and narrow passes of the Ryuu mountains. Maybe they’d have a chance at outmaneuvering him. At the most, it would buy Castiel time to think of a way to get out of this.

Ishim was not only bigger and stronger, he was also more equipped for melee fighting. If it came down to that, and it probably would, Castiel’s useless tail and strangely shaped wings would guarantee his throat being slit. Ishim had a spiked tail and hooked claws, which made him one of the best fishers in the garrisons. He also had razors on the edges of his wings, meaning there was no way for Castiel to get into a close-combat fight with him without being cut up badly.

Castiel twisted hard to the right, grateful that Dean had understood. The human was a light presence on his back, barely noticeable save for when they veered into turns and the extra weight became apparent. Castiel was suddenly immensely glad that Ishim was attacking _now_ instead of earlier, when Dean had no idea how to fly and they didn’t trust each other yet. Here, now, they worked like a well-oiled catapult.

Castiel’s ears flicked underneath his frill, listening for the telltale pounding of wingbeats behind him. As it turned out, he needn’t have done that. A few seconds later, a roar shook the mountain air.

“ _CASTIEL!_ ”

Castiel flared his wings and tail, catching an updraft. They rose hard and fast, soaring over the peak of one of the smaller mountains in the range. Castiel’s oxygen-intake slits were wide open, flaring as the cold mountain air rushed straight into his lungs. With so many muscles and so much to power, his heart needed more oxygen than he could simply breathe in.

Castiel dove underneath a spire of rock, twisting into a barrel roll without a second thought. Dean seemed to have anticipated the move, pressing himself flat to Castiel’s back.

The extra weight was beginning to become apparent. Castiel was out of shape. He was way better than he had been when he’d first rescued Dean, of course, but he was nowhere near the military-grade endurance Ishim surely had. One way or another, this chase was going to end very soon.

Castiel began to look for places to land. They had to be flat, preferably with a gentle slope and plenty of underbrush. He needed Dean to be able to escape quickly.

When Castiel spotted a place tabletop near the base of the mountains, he dove for it. He could hear Ishim barely three dragon-lengths behind him, enormous silver wings churning the air into a hurricane. Castiel ducked around a tower of rock, hoping Ishim would be amenable to at least speaking before they fought. Ishim was an honorable dragon. Hopefully, he would allow Castiel the dignity of dying on his feet.

Castiel stumbled as he tried to land, tail flaring out and whipping in a wide arc in his attempt to keep from stumbling and rolling over, inevitably crushing Dean. The human’s incredible flying abilities didn’t seem to extend to crash landings, however, because his weight soon disappeared from Castiel’s back altogether.

Before the dark dragon had a chance to panic, Ishim was thundering to a landing a few dragon-lengths away, hazel eyes alight with rage and righteous fury.

“ _Ishim_.” Castiel was glad his voice was steady. His wings were tucked tight to his back to keep them from trembling.

“ _Coward_ ,” Ishim spat, sharp white teeth bared in a snarl. “ _Traitor_.”

Castiel flinched, digging his claws into the rocky earth beneath him. They were facing each other on a wide tabletop, the ground sloping steeply away on all sides. To Castiel’s right and Ishim’s left, the Ryuu mountains rose in a towering wall of slag and snow. To Castiel’s left and Ishim’s right, the green valley spread out below.

“ _Ishim, please_ ,” Castiel tried, voice rumbling deep in his chest. “ _Allow me to explain_.”

“ _Explain what? Explain how your crackpot conspiracy theory led to you becoming the laughingstock of the generation?_ ” Ishim demanded, tail rising high behind him in a threatening gesture. He bared his teeth in a sneer. “ _They may be laughing, Castiel, but I have been hunting you for months now. His Majesty knew I was close to you. He knew I stood a chance of outsmarting and outflying you. And here we are_.”

Castiel felt a cold spear of ice deep in his gut, _knowing_ how clever Alastair was. How manipulative. “ _You cannot honestly be backing him. You of all dragons should despise the war, Ishim_ ,” he said, tail flicking behind him. It wasn’t a threatening gesture, but it was defensive. Castiel wanted to convey that he didn’t _want_ to fight, but he most definitely would. As he spoke, his eyes flicked every so often to the ground around them. Where the hell was Dean?

Ishim roared, anger saturating every syllable. “ _I despise the war, but I do not work with the enemy! Where is the prince you stole, Castiel? Where is it?_ ”

Before Castiel could answer, he heard a familiar noise that sent cold chills through his veins: The sound of wood creaking, a taut bowstring being pulled back.

Seconds later, faster than Castiel could comprehend, an arrow was embedding itself in Ishim’s thick scales, mere inches from his left eye. Dean hadn’t been fucking around. He’d gone for the kill.

“Hey, you overgrown trout! Fuck off to whatever shithole you crawled out of!” Dean shouted. His low voice sounded tinny compared to the deep baritone of Castiel and Ishim’s rumbles. The irony and the contrast would have almost been funny had it not been so terrifying.

Ishim turned, tail rising even higher. When he spotted Dean, his lip curled in disgust. “ _Ah. There it is_.”

Dean didn’t understand the dragon’s words, obviously, but he seemed to get the gist of it. He notched another arrow in his bow, drawing back and firing seemingly for the principle. “Go fuck yourself!”

Ishim snarled, batting away the arrow easily. He turned to Castiel, hazel eyes glowing with anger and deep, utter disgust. It hurt something in Castiel’s chest to see his former friend look at him like that. “ _So this is what you’ve come to_.”

“ _Anything to end the war, Ishim_ ,” Castiel said, feeling strangely like he was betraying Dean in that moment.

Ishim’s face twisted with disgust. “ _Anything? You’d become a pack mule to end the war? A traitor? That piece of filth treats you no better than the disgusting, flea-bitten cattle its kind farm! You have truly lost all semblance of sanity. Rest assured; our brothers and sisters will not miss you_.”

That fucking _hurt_. It hurt something deep inside Castiel’s chest. The part of him that had always longed to belong, that would trade his tail and wings for normal ones in a heartbeat. The part that wished he wasn’t so empathetic, so compassionate, so _weak_.

Castiel knew how this looked to his brethren. He’d betrayed their king in a bid to help a human kill him. To end the war, yes, but to most dragons, it would seem that Castiel was helping the humans win. At this point, Castiel didn’t care _who_ won. But he understood his fellow dragons’ hatred.

He could do nothing but look sadly at his former friend. “ _I’m sorry, Ishim_.”

“ _Do not speak to me as if we’re equals. You are nothing more than a pet to that creature. I suppose I’ll have to put you out of your misery too_ ,” Ishim growled, tilting his head threateningly

Castiel’s eyes widened at the glowing lines between Ishim’s interlocking scales. His throat and chest area were glowing orange, a sure sign that fire would soon be joining the conversation.

“ _Ishim, don’t do this. Fight me the way we are meant to, please_ ,” Castiel begged. “ _You must know you will not win this fight_.”

Ishim just snarled at him, the back of his throat glowing like a volcano.

Melee fighting was the oldest form of fighting in dragon culture. It was used to settle disputes, claim mates, and establish territory. It was an honorable, necessary process. Both dragons charged at each other, both grappled with wings and tail and claws. It was a fair measuring of strength, one that didn’t allow for cheating or dishonor. Fledgling dragons used that form of fighting to establish the pecking order that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. Soldiers used it to determine who received the best lodging and food.

To refuse an opponent the opportunity to fight in such a way was seen as dishonorable. Ishim was essentially bringing a sword to a fistfight. Fire was destructive and violent. It often led to both participants being hurt in some way, even the firebringer themselves. Very rarely did both dragons survive. It seemed that now, Ishim wasn’t fucking around either. He was willing to debase his own honor in favor of ending Castiel quickly and painfully.

There was another layer to this, one that was only brought to light because it was _Castiel_ that Ishim was challenging. Castiel had made a point to never use his fire around Dean. Not only was he afraid he’d hurt the human, he was afraid Dean would react strongly.

Ishim _knew_ that he was weaker than Castiel when it came to fire. He _knew_ he wasn’t likely going to win this battle. And it seemed that he didn’t care, too blinded by rage and disgust to bother to think through the situation.

The silver dragon’s neck convulsed. Castiel dove out of the way just in time to dodge a massive fireball. 

Right. Ishim shot fireballs, not streams of lava. That was going to make this so much easier.

Castiel ducked out of the path of yet another fireball, crushing trees as he rolled out of the way. “ _Ishim, please_ ,” he begged. “ _I don’t want to hurt you. Stop this now. We can fight like honorable dragons_.”

He saw the answer in Ishim’s fiery eyes. There was no honor here. To Ishim, Castiel had forgone his right to a dignified death when he’d betrayed their king. 

Ishim fired another fireball at him. Castiel ducked out of the way, smearing mud on his scales as he dove to escape the lower path of the projectile. He could feel the blast of heat singe his tail, a yelp of pain leaving his throat.

Suddenly, Ishim roared, startling Castiel. The black dragon stared, wide-eyed, as Ishim reared up on his back legs and whirled around, rage lighting his eyes.

Dean was _standing there_. Standing on a rock, arrow draw back, the first one that he’d fired buried in Ishim’s left eye. The angle was off, the arrow perpendicular to the dragon’s snout instead of going straight up the eye socket and into the brain. Still, it was a deadly shot. Ishim likely couldn’t see out of his left eye. Castiel was willing to bet he wouldn’t be able to ever again.

“ _YOU FUCKING MUD MONKEY!_ ” Ishim screamed, his baritone roar echoing off the nearby mountain peaks. It was loud enough to make Castiel wonder if Dean’s ears were harmed by it.

The prince didn’t even flinch, letting another arrow fly.

Ishim blasted a ball of fire at Dean, and Castiel snapped.

He hurtled forward, claws digging into stone. His chest was heating up in a way that it hadn’t in a very, very long time. The feeling wasn’t something Castiel would ever forget, especially since so much death seemed to follow.

He rammed into Ishim before the dragon had a chance to fire a second fireball at Dean. The prince was nowhere to be found, the ground black and smoking where he’d been standing. Castiel silently prayed that the human was still alive.

Ishim roared, shoving at Castiel. His single eye was wild with pain and fury, so unlike the cool calm Ishim usually possessed. It made Castiel realize just how badly Ishim wanted him dead. The silver dragon wouldn’t stop until one of them was mere ashes in the wind.

From the intense heat building in Castiel’s chest, he could guess fairly easily who that was going to be.

Ishim didn’t even seem to notice the glow seeping from the cracks of Castiel’s interlocked scales. He opened his mouth, blasting fire at Castiel’s head. The dark-scaled dragon barely had time to duck out of the way, narrowly avoiding having his head blown off.

He shoved Ishim away with all of his strength, throat heating to near-uncomfortable levels. He could feel his fire building inside him, aching to be let out. It had been suppressed for far too long, and now it was like a living thing inside him, raging and snarling. 

Castiel knew that when the storm broke, there would be no turning back.

He ducked another fire attack from Ishim, turning to sprint to the other side of the tabletop. As he did, he caught a glimpse of Dean hurrying to a hiding spot. Castiel felt a burst of relief at the knowledge that the human was still alive, though that quickly morphed into muted rage when he saw that Dean was limping, arms curled protectively around himself. Whatever Ishim had done, he had hurt Dean.

He’d hurt _Dean_.

Castiel whirled, eyes locking with Ishim’s.

Up until that point, Castiel had put up with being insulted, fired at, clawed, and burned. Even before this fight, he'd never been sure of his place among dragons, too used to how they looked at him strangely, laughed at him behind his back.

Well, there was one thing he was sure about now. _No one_ hurt his human.

The fire inside him surged up. Castiel slammed his front talons into the earth, digging them into the mountain, and _roared_.

The world lit up in pale blue. The air around Castiel’s mouth rippled with heat, a nearby tree’s leaves catching fire just from proximity. The rocks of the tabletop were stained white and blue, basking the world in an eerie, pale light.

Most dragons were born with orange fire. A few had yellow fire, like Ishim and Azazel. If they did, it was possible to see a hint of blue in their throat, where the fire was hottest.

In Castiel’s throat, the fire was pure white.

Blue fire streamed across the space between him and Ishim. In the last seconds before he melted his fellow dragon, Castiel saw Ishim’s eyes widen as he recognized his mistake.

Castiel was a bluefire dragon. His flames were exponentially hotter and more powerful than other dragons'. They caused more damage, more destruction, in a single breath than four normal dragons could in an hour. In the garrisons, the few times Castiel had ever used it, he'd felled whole kingdoms in a matter of minutes. There was nothing hotter than blue fire, no one more powerful than Castiel.

The bluefire dragon felt his rage wash over him, white beginning to color the inside of his column of fire as it got hotter and hotter. The tree beside him was scorched. Around Ishim, the earth was burning, crumbling, _melting_.

Castiel's whole life, he'd been teased for being different. His scales were black instead of the normal silvers and reds and oranges. He had blue accents to his eyes and scales. His wings were oddly shaped, his tail was weak and useless. He was too soft, too weak, too compassionate.

Well, _fuck that_.

Castiel's black scales made him invisible at night. The blue accents on his wings and eyes bespoke the power of his fire. His wings and tail meant he could fly faster and longer than anyone else, maneuver in a way that most dragons only dreamed of. And his weakness, his compassion... That had led him to making friends with one of the most amazing living creatures he'd ever met, and a human to boot.

Castiel didn't care what Ishim and the rest of them thought about him, but the _second_ anyone hurt Dean, it was over. Dean, his fiery, sarcastic, compassionate, beautiful prince. The prince who had risked his life dozens of times to save a little brother he loved more than the world. The prince who had never once looked at him for being less than the dragon he was inside. The young man who had accepted Castiel for who he was, strange tail and wings and all, who had actually _encouraged_ it, celebrated it. The human that Castiel was going to save the world with.

_No one_ hurt his human. If they wanted to, they'd have to go through Castiel, like Ishim. And they'd die like Ishim, too.

Castiel's fire seemed to go on forever, blinding in its brightness and searing in its temperature. Finally, though, the bluefire dragon could feel the fire he'd built up starting to run out. He spat out the last remains with a snarl on his snout, blinking to disperse the imprints of fire on his eyelids. The world seemed dark without the blue glow to light it, the thunderstorm gathering overhead and blocking out the sun.

For a moment, all was silent. It seemed as if every living thing in a ten-mile radius was holding its breath.

A soft noise next to Castiel startled him. He turned and finally saw the human cowering a few feet away. Dean was curled into a little ball, mere meters away from where Castiel’s talons were dug into the ground. The human was trembling faintly, terrified.

Castiel looked back at the tabletop, faint horror flashing through him.

Oh, gods.

The entire surface they were standing on was blackened and burnt, save for whatever was behind Castiel. He’d lit the trees on fire, burned the rock to a scorched black. And Ishim…

Dragons were nearly indestructible. It was common knowledge. One had to have a sharp sword to be able to penetrate their armor. Their bones were made of material nearly stronger than diamond. And Castiel… he’d _melted_ Ishim.

The dragon’s corpse had been blown backward to the edge of the tabletop, his once-beautiful silver scales scorched black. His entire chest had been blown in, his innards fried as they slid out of his body and onto the blackened earth. There was no denying that Castiel’s former friend was very, very dead.

Castiel felt the urge to retch. The wind had changed, blowing the cooked-meat scent of Ishim’s body toward him. Suddenly, Castiel couldn’t stand to look at what he’d done for a moment longer.

He grabbed Dean without a second thought, talons closing a little too harshly around the human. Castiel didn’t care. He needed to get _out_.

Shoving off the mountain, wings straining with overused muscles, Castiel launched into the air. He flew blindly for the cave, unable to think of anything other than hiding himself away from his sins and his failures forever.

Above them, the rain finally began to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, we know what Castiel's specialty is! I know that a few of you really wanted to know when I hinted earlier. There you go. ;)
> 
> Also, if you're still confused, here's a note on melee fighting:
> 
> It's basically where two dragons charge at each other and grapple. They use wings, tails (some of them are clubbed or spiked; Castiel's is not, and therefore, useless), and claws. Like I said earlier, using fire is like bringing a sword to a fistfight. It will probably damage both dragons because they're so close to each other, and it is seen as extremely dishonorable. Ishim was violating thousands of years of dragon code by skipping the grappling part and going right for the kill. He was also being dumb, because Castiel's fire is most definitely going to win in any situation.
> 
> I hope I haven't confused you too much. Thank you for reading, and a special thank you to the people who have been commenting. You guys make my whole darn week! I love you so much. ;)
> 
> See you on Friday! :) It's about to get messy.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends! Happy Friday (or whatever day it is, anyway)!
> 
> You have NO idea how excited I am to post this chapter. It's not one of my favorites (those are coming up) but it's definitely monumental. After reading all your lovely, amazing comments on the last chapter, I'm excited to see what you think of this one. Also, kdm1280, I swear... >:( 
> 
> (They've been trying to get me to post the chapters early. It's almost working. XD)
> 
> Okay, I'm excited for this chapter. I'm excited for you to read it. OH MY GOSH! ALSO, FANART.
> 
> The wonderful and amazing Confused_SPN_Fan made amazing dragon!Cas art. It's awesome. I love it. Also, for some reason, I can't get it to center. :'( Anyway, it's below. I'll explain why it's here and not at the end of the chapter later. ;) Give them some love, and also enjoy the chapter!

**Thirteen**

Dean’s whole body hurt. Even his brain. _Especially_ his brain.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he’d seen come out of Castiel’s throat. The sheer intensity of how fucking _hot_ that fire had been was incredible. Dean was pretty sure his clothes were still lightly smoking.

He’d heard of bluefire dragons before, but he’d never actually seen one. Legend said that the dragon who had begun the war had been a bluefire dragon. They were incredibly powerful and incredibly dangerous, for obvious reasons. Old stories told tales of them burning down entire cities singlehandedly, and the ashes flickering with dyring flames for days afterward.

Dean, if he thought about it, should have known.

Castiel didn’t _look_ like other dragons. His scales were pitch black, for one. For another, his highlights were blue. Dean had seen dark gray dragons before, which was the closest any had ever come to black. Azazel had slate gray scales himself. While Azazel’s highlights had been yellow, most dark gray dragons’ were orange or red. It spoke of their firepower.

Castiel, though… Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen blue accents on scales. It was incredible. And the sheer _power_ that had crackled in the air when Castiel had spat that stream of fire was intense. Not to mention how utterly wrecked that silver bastard had been. There was no doubting Castiel’s ability to kill, if there had been any doubt in the first place. Dean had been terrified, initially, of being burned simply by proximity. It seemed that what had been true before still stood now: Castiel would never hurt him.

The dragon was flying fast like they were being chased again, holding onto Dean just a _little_ too tight. It was uncomfortable, but Dean didn’t think Castiel noticed. He just kind of wished they hadn’t gotten out of there so fast. Flying on Castiel’s back was much better than being carried.

Dean was quiet and patient, however, watching the forest below them. Castiel was flying low and fast, probably keen on getting hidden again. That was fine. Dean wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of staying out of the cave for very long either.

They dove down beneath the tree line once they reached the lake, Castiel’s wings sending ripples across the water’s surface. The dragon dropped Dean rather roughly on the sand, not even bothering to shift as he glided into his cave, wings tucking in at last second to prevent them from clipping the wall.

Dean groaned as he righted himself, his body aching. He had a bunch of cuts and scrapes on his face and arms from tumbling around on the sharp rocky mountainside, trying to dodge swinging tails and fireballs. He was pretty sure he’d lost half his arrows that way too, which made him kind of mad. Maybe he could convince Castiel to fly them back up there after things cooled down. Arrows were freaking expensive, and it wasn’t like Dean could go back into the human town anyway.

He stretched, limping toward the cave. There were some burns on his right arm and the side of his face. They would fade after a while, and were mostly just a pain in the ass. The cuts were more annoying. Dean would have to clean them when he got inside. He kind of wished Castiel would have carried him in instead of just dumping him on the sand, but whatever.

Dean stopped short when he got to the entrance, staring.

Castiel was rushing around in human form, shoving various supplies into bags. It looked… well, it looked like he was packing up. Like the dragon was planning on moving, which was ridiculous. They had nowhere to go.

“Cas?” Dean asked, limping into the cave. “What’re you doing?”

Castiel seemed to tense considerably. He didn’t reply, ignoring Dean as he moved past him to grab some of the food they’d left out. It was a pain to go all the way to the back of the cave if they wanted bread or something. Keeping it in reach was nice. Castiel threw it all in a bag.

Dean blinked in surprise, both at Castile’s rudeness and at the sheer speed in which the dragon was packing supplies. What the hell was going on?

“Cas-“

“We’re _leaving_ , Dean,” Castiel spat over his shoulder. It was filled with so much venom that Dean flinched like he’d been struck.

“Uh, why?” he asked tentatively, wondering if he could figure out what had the dragon so angry without directly asking.

“Because of you," Castiel snarled. "Because I killed Ishim, and his body is lying up there for all to see. If any other dragons come by, they’ll see what happened and know immediately that I killed him.”

There was an ungodly amount of bitterness in those words. Dean stayed silent for several seconds, struggling to unpack everything that had been loaded in those few sentences. It sounded like Castiel was angry at him, which kind of sucked. They’d been getting along pretty well over the past few months. The only arguments they’d had had been petty and had usually been resolved in a day or two. Right now, Castiel sounded _mad_. Almost like before, when they’d hated each other.

It made Dean uneasy.

“Uh, okay. Is there… Did I do something?” he asked tentatively, figuring he’d better just ask. It was better to do that than to dance around the problem.

He kind of regretted it in the next ten seconds, however, when he suddenly found his face full of furious, pissed-off dragon. “Did you _do_ something? How about provoking a peaceful conversation into one that resulted in _death?_ ” Castiel growled.

Dean frowned, defenses rising. “That was in no way peaceful. He was gonna rip your head off, Cas!”

“You shot him!”

“To defend you!”

“ _I could handle myself, Dean!_ ”

“Obviously,” Dean snarled, lip curling in a sneer. He saw how this was going. He wasn’t gonna be treated like shit for trying to defend this asshole. “You fucking obliterated that guy without a second thought.”

The punch came faster than he could comprehend. Maybe dragons were faster and stronger than normal people in human form as well as in dragon form. Maybe Dean just trusted Castiel too much. Whatever it was, Dean was on the floor in half a second, his head spinning with stars a second after.

“You insolent rat,” Castiel hissed, blue eyes alight with fury. “You should show me some respect. I pulled you out of Hell; I could throw you back in.”

Dean bared his teeth, the side of his face throbbing painfully. The threat stung in places he didn't even know it could. “Oh, really? You sure they wouldn’t execute you right after or something? You killed one of your friends, pretty sure that’ll warrant-“ He cut off with a sharp cry of pain as Castiel fell on him, pressing his knee to the tender spot underneath Dean’s ribs.

“I did all that for _you_ ,” Castiel snarled, leaning close enough for Dean to smell the faint traces of smoke on his breath. “I rebelled for _you_. I killed Ishim for _you_. I debased my name, lost all _trace_ of honor, all for _you_. And _this is what you give me?!_ ”

“I didn’t do anything!” Dean shouted.

“You provoked Ishim! You forced me into a situation where I had to kill him!” Castiel roared. His deep voice echoed off the cave walls. The stone was cold underneath Dean’s back, seeping in through the thin leather armor that had done nothing to shield him from the heat of the dragons’ fire.

“I didn’t do _shit!_ ” Dean shouted back, voice breaking. “I was defending you! I was trying my damndest to do _something_. It wasn’t my fault that situation turned ugly! It was heading toward that anyway!”

“We’ll never know,” Castiel hissed, pressing harder at Dean’s ribs. It fucking _hurt_. “You shot before I had a chance to talk him down.”

“He wasn’t gonna let you talk him down, Cas,” Dean snorted. “Trust me.”

Castiel’s eyes widened with rage, the pressure on Dean’s ribs becoming even fiercer. It was getting really hard to breathe. “How would you know?” Castiel roared, the fury in his eyes causing Dean to flinch. “You couldn’t understand us! You’re nothing more than a little pest. An infestation that relies on weapons to fight. If your species didn’t have the help of cannons and catapults, we would have weeded you out long ago.”

Dean couldn’t deny how much that one hurt.

He blinked back hot, painful tears, choosing to bare his teeth angrily. “Fuck you,” Dean spat. “Fuck you and your holier-than-thou attitude. Fuck you and your honor. Fuck your whole species! If it wasn’t for your fucking wings and your fucking fire, you’d have killed each other off before humans even _got_ to this planet!”

Castiel’s face morphed from one of rage to one of cold impassivity. He lightened the weight on Dean’s ribs. In a single, elegant move, the dragon stood. He brushed himself off, as if touching Dean had gotten him dirty.

“Get out.”

Dean blinked, staring up at the dragon from his place on the floor. “What?”

“Get out.”

Dean stared. Castiel looked back at him, only his eyes betraying how angry he was. Dean could tell that Castiel was a little scared, a little shocked. That didn’t excuse what he’d said about Dean, though.

_Little pest. Infestation. Insolent rat_.

Dean steeled himself, breathing past the intense ache in his chest. He shoved himself up on his elbows, anger nearly splitting him in two. “Fine. You can go fuck yourself. I quit.”

He got slowly, painfully to his feet. Dean didn’t look at Castiel as he stalked past him, grabbing the sword he’d purchased at the village all those weeks before. He buckled it onto his back, fitting the strap snugly around his right shoulder. Dean grabbed a random bag after glimpsing the gleam of coins inside. It was heavy enough, so he figured he’d be fine.

He stuffed it into his belt, looping the drawstring tightly around the leather. Dean grabbed the bow and the half-empty quiver of arrows, throwing that over his left shoulder.

Then he turned and stalked out of the cave without looking back.

Outside, it was spitting rain. Dean was soaked through within a few minutes of stomping through the gathering darkness. With the dark clouds overhead, evening was approaching fast.

Dean headed in the only direction he really knew, head spinning with all that he and Castiel had just exchanged. Half of him wanted the dragon to fuck off and never show his face again. The other half, though, wanted Castiel to come running out of the cave and demand he return.

Castiel didn’t come after him. Dean didn’t turn around.

He made his way through the forest, eyes aching with the strain of trying to navigate in near-darkness. His entire body ached. It was pissing him off. 

What hurt most weren’t his burns. It wasn’t even his cheek, though his eye was quickly swelling to an impressive bruise because of Castiel’s fist. What hurt the most was Dean’s pride. Not even his pride, if he really wanted to admit it. His heart.

It was stupid. The kind of thing he would tease Sammy about, if he bothered to go down the rabbit hole of thinking of his past. The kind of heartache that was meant for pining maidens and heroes in novels. Something that was reserved for people who actually _had_ a heart, who deserved the things they were wishing for, and who were good enough for whatever — or whomever — it was they were pining for.

So… Not Dean.

He stumbled over a tree root, snarling angrily as if it had personally wronged him. He was really, really close to snapping. He wanted to break something, preferably himself. If that wasn’t an option, something satisfying like glass would do.

Dean tripped again. This time, it was on the border of a dirt road.

The prince paused for a moment, looking up and down the road. It was deserted, barely visible as a pale line in the darkness. In the distance, he thought he could hear the sounds of a village settling down for the night.

_This is it. I could still go back_ , Dean thought. He glanced back over his shoulder, into the gathering darkness behind him. The forest was almost pitch-black now. With Dean’s luck, he’d probably get gutted by a pack of wild wolves or something. Wouldn’t that be ironic.

No, he wasn’t going back. Castiel didn’t want him anyway.

Dean set his jaw, fighting back the heat that rose in his eyes. His throat was tight, making it hard to breathe. Dean pushed on, moving down the road toward the sounds of the village.

He found it a few hundred yards around a bend in the road, glittering and warm and foreign. The sounds of human voices, of women and children and the whinnying of horses, reached Dean’s ears.

Dean paused just outside the gates of the village, realizing just how out of his depth he was about to be.

Before, it had been easier. Before, he’d just gone and gotten fitted for a sword, passing off his social awkwardness by posing as a mysterious traveler. Now, though, he was going to need to remember how to charm people. How to actually _talk_ to them. How to behave like a human being. Dean wasn’t sure he remembered how. He didn’t need etiquette and social skills when he was tied up in a cave or riding a dragon thousands of feet above the ground.

_I can do it. I need to get back to Sammy. I can do it_.

Dean steeled himself, taking a deep breath at the thought of his little brother. If he played this right, he could see the kid by the end of the week.

Dean stepped into the village.

He tried to be inconspicuous. He really did. He kept his head low and his movements quiet and unseen. He should have known it wouldn’t work.

Dean could hear the laughter and talking dying down, becoming whispers as he passed. He knew it was kind of a lost cause, anyway. With his sword, his bow, his leather armor, and the slashes on his face, he looked about as inconspicuous as Castiel would if he’d walked in here.

The thought Castiel shoved more pain and guilt down Dean’s throat.

He raised his chin, deciding that the effort of being quiet and unseen could go to hell. So could any pretense of being charming. It wasn’t working anyway. Besides, he was Dean Winchester, the Crown Prince of Lawrence.

He headed for the largest establishment in the village, ignoring the stares of people he passed. He knew he cut a terrifying figure, weapons and burns and all.

As he stepped up to the bar’s entrance, fully intending to get all his information and maybe a good glass of whiskey, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Dean flinched away, grabbing the man’s wrist before he could think of it. The movement was lightning fast, the guy’s surprise showing plainly on his face.

“Don’t touch me,” Dean growled.

“I-I’m sorry,” the guy stuttered. “I just… I wanted to ask.”

“Ask _what?_ ” Dean demanded, patience already running thin. He wanted to get out of this fucking rain, and this asshole was holding him back. Dean released his too-tight grip on the guy’s wrist, wiping his hand on his cloak to rid it of mud.

“Ask if you… if you killed it,” the guy said in a hushed, excited whisper. His eyes raked up and down Dean’s form. Apparently, that was the thing _everyone_ was wondering, because they were all staring now. It seemed that the village was holding its breath.

Killed… _oh_.

Dean realized how this must look. The villagers must have heard the roars on the mountain earlier. They didn’t know that Castiel was accompanied by a human. And here Dean was, striding into the village armed to the teeth, bearing injuries that could only have been caused by a dragon.

Dean hesitated, wanting to say _no, of fucking course not_. He stopped himself, though. He knew how suspicious that would look. As much as it had been a dishonor for Castiel to be associated with a human, it was just as bad for a human to be associated with a dragon.

“I killed it,” he gritted out, voice raspy and shredded. “Stay away from the lake.”

He didn’t bother giving any more information. Instead, he turned and stepped into the tavern, ignoring the shouts of joy that went up from the villagers behind him. Dean ignored the pain in his chest at his own words. That was just as useless.

Inside the tavern, there were a few men and women sitting around, drinking ale and whiskey. The bartender was a dark-haired man with a nice jaw. On any other occasion, Dean might have given him a once-over. Now, though, the idea of even looking twice at another man made him feel sick.

He trudged up to the bar, claiming a rickety stool.

“Hello, stranger,” the man said in a lilting accent. He leaned on the countertop, dark clothing shifting underneath the warm glow of the lights overhead. “What can I get for you?”

“Information on where I can get a warhorse,” Dean grunted. He eyed the bottles on the shelves. “And one of your strongest whiskeys.”

The man nodded. “Sure thing. Mind if I get a name? Mine’s Ketch. Arthur Ketch.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, hesitating before speaking. “Dean. Dean Winchester.”

The guy hesitated, turning to look at Dean over his shoulder as he reached for a bottle of amber whiskey. “Winchester, yes? That’s not a common last name.”

“It’s not,” Dean agreed, trying to remain civil and patient. He wasn’t here to socialize. He didn’t even want to stay the night. He just wanted to get a damn horse and get drunk. Was it that hard?

Ketch frowned at him, pouring three fingers of whiskey into a glass. Dean was at least grateful for that. The man knew how badly he needed to drink, then.

“For your thirst,” he said, placing it on the counter. He looked at Dean, watching as the prince took a sip. Dean calmly held his dark gaze. “As for the warhorse… well, I can’t say I can help you there. They only make those in the kingdoms. If I may, what’s the need for one?”

Dean grunted, tipping the glass back for another sip. “I need to get back to Lawrence.”

Ketch paused, connecting the dots. Around them, the bar seemed to have gone silent. Out of the corner of Dean’s eye, he could see some of the men putting hands on their crossbows. 

“So you’re Dean Winchester. Crown Prince,” Ketch said. He hesitated, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t know you did hero work.”

“I don’t,” Dean grunted, finishing off the whiskey. It burned nicely in his gut.

“Why’d you kill the dragon, then?” Ketch asked.

Dean gritted his teeth, setting the glass on the countertop with a little more force than necessary. If he was going to have to lie to get back to Lawrence, he would. “Because I’m Dean fucking Winchester, and that bastard was in my way,” Dean gritted out, ignoring the way the insult to Castiel burned on his tongue. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Ketch’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders tensing. “We have no need for trouble here.”

“You’re making one,” Dean said quietly. “Where can I find a good horse? I have the means to pay for it, but I’m not above using a little persuasion.”

The implications of what he meant by ‘persuasion’ were clear. Ketch’s eyes flicked to the weapons adorning Dean’s torso, the hilt of his sword gleaming over his right shoulder.

“You came here weeks ago, to purchase that very sword. Why?” Ketch asked.

“Scoping out the area,” Dean replied flippantly. “Answer my question.”

Ketch eyed Dean, dark eyes narrowed. “The best horses are trained and bred by Diego over there. He’ll have what you need.”

Dean turned to eye the man sitting near the back wall of the tavern. He was watching their conversation, and at the mention of his name, he stood up, walking with a sort of swagger over to where Dean sat and Ketch stood.

“Best horse?” Dean asked, motioning for another whiskey from Ketch. “I have the means to pay for it, but trust me, I know quality when I see it.”

The man snorted. “I got what ya need,” he promised. “Gotta stallion by the name of Prius. Best one I’ve got. Used to be a soldier’s before the man retired into this village and left the horse with me. Well trained and well bred.”

Dean downed the whiskey Ketch gave him, not even looking at Diego. “How much?”

There was a pause. Dean glanced over, about to repeat himself, and caught Diego leering at his coin pouch. Or maybe he was looking at his ass, whatever. Either way, it made Dean itch to grab his sword.

“How much you got?” Diego asked, giving a little snicker.

“I’ve got as much as I’ve got,” Dean said calmly. “As for the price… If you’re not gonna give me a solid number, I’ll ask him.” He turned to the closest villager. “How much did you pay for your horse?”

The guy swallowed, glancing around nervously. “I-uh, I don’t have a horse.” At Dean’s glare, he made a placating gesture with shaking hands. “B-But my cousin, he bought a horse for three gold pieces.”

“She was a halfbreed bitch!” Diego cried, face going red with anger.

“Too late. Three gold pieces,” Dean said. He put the glass down on the countertop and reached for his coin pouch. Before his fingers could get much farther than brushing against the strings, however, he felt a sharp point pricking the soft part of his side.

“Who d’ya think you are?” Diego hissed in his ear. His breath stank of ale. “Comin’ in our town, swaggering around like you own the place. Tellin’ me how to conduct my business. I tell you what, boy. You wanna live? Ten gold pieces.”

Dean turned his head slowly, catching the near-animalistic gleam in Diego’s dark eyes.

The prince gave him a cold smile.

In half a second, a flurry of motion exploded. Dean jerked his elbow up, knocking the knife from Diego’s grip. It flipped toward the ceiling, flashing in the air. Dean unsheathed his sword and brought it around behind Diego’s head, pressing it to the base of his neck. In his left hand, he caught the falling knife and held the blade to Diego’s throat. In moments, the man was effectively trapped, both sides of his neck held by sharp, fine-edged blades.

“Three,” Dean said calmly, feeling the weight of the bar's shocked patrons' stares. “And if you ever draw on me again, I’ll cut your throat open and let you bleed out on the floor.”

He waited, staring straight into Diego’s gleaming dark eyes. When the man finally gave a tiny nod of acquiescence, Dean released him, slipping the knife into his pocket. It wasn’t a bad blade, and he could use every weapon he could get.

“The stables are on the far side of town,” Ketch commented, seeming to have recovered from his initial shock.

“Perfect,” Dean said. He turned to Diego, staring calmly into the rage-filled eyes of the villager. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOO, I figured you wouldn't like the fanart as much at the bottom because I have a feeling not a lot of you are happy with Castiel right now. It's understandable. I get it.
> 
> If I haven't already said it before, this is not NPT. There is a happy ending, I promise.
> 
> Tell me what you think. You have NO idea how excited I was when I read all your comments and heard you were hoping for fluff in this chapter. I guess I love surprising you. ;)
> 
> See you on Tuesday!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Dean!
> 
> I realize I can't give him a present, but I can certainly give you awesome readers one to celebrate. ;) I wish I could have given out a more upbeat chapter, but just know that the Speed Rollercoaster works both ways! What goes down must also come up. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Fourteen**

Castiel stared at the darkness outside the cave, feeling completely numb.

It was as if all the emotion from earlier — the pain, the rage, the disgust — had just drained out of him, leaving nothing left. He was gutted. Empty. It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

Castiel hadn’t even finished packing. After Dean had stomped off into the gathering darkness, Castiel’s legs had sort of just… given out. He was sitting on his ass on the frigid stone floor, now. Had been for almost three hours. He had no intention of moving, though the cold of the stone was biting through the thin material of his pants and his limbs were aching to move.

Castiel knew he needed to finish packing. He had to fucking _hurry_ , because it was only a matter of time before other dragons found Ishim’s body, saw the lake nearby, and connected the dots. For all he knew, there could be a garrison heading his way.

But...

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Dean was _gone_. And the things Castiel had _said_ to him… Gods, they made the dragon want to vomit. He’d told Dean to leave. He’d kicked him out. He’d called him a rat, among other things. He’d told Dean that he wished he and his entire species were dead.

Slowly, Castiel moved for the first time in hours. He put his head in his hands.

In the darkness provided by his shut eyelids, he remembered the look of shock and fear in Ishim’s eyes before he’d gone. The look of pain and sadness in Dean’s before he’d gone, too. Both of them were gone because of Castiel. Because of mistakes and choices that he'd made.

Sometimes… Sometimes Castiel wished he wasn’t himself. Wished he’d been born gray and brown like his siblings. Wished his fire was a normal color, that he had a head-bashing tail instead of a flapped tail. That his wings were normal, that _he_ was normal. Sometimes he wished he’d never heard of the Dragon-Slayer. He wondered, sometimes, if it would have been easier to just be a mindless killer.

Castiel got up slowly, his entire body numb. He felt drained. Tired. The chase with Ishim and the fight with Dean had left him physically and mentally exhausted. He was done.

Castiel dragged himself to the back of the cave. He forced himself to finish packing, haphazardly throwing his food and supplies into the two enormous carrying bags that he could hold in his back talons in dragon form. When the entire cave was cleaned up, only the bedding in the nest to show that anyone had lived there at all, Castiel shifted.

His dragon form almost felt worse. His wings ached, at least, which meant that he could _feel_ something. They were sore and exhausted. The thought of flying, especially with the burden of the bags weighing him down, sounded like torture.

Castiel grabbed the bags anyway, dragging them listlessly across the cave floor. Once he’d exited the cave and reached the beach, he paused.

The image of sunlit days on the water, basking in the lake with Dean, returned to his mind. This was where Dean showed him some hand-to-hand combat. Where Dean went to workout and hone his incredible sword-fighting skills. Where they took off and landed, where Dean had saved his life all those months ago.

Damn it, Castiel’s chest felt tight. He turned away from the lake, heaviness in his heart, and set his sights for a familiar peak in the Ryuu mountains. 

As he spread his wings, his mind screamed for him to find Dean. To go off into the forest, follow the faint trail of rain and woodsmoke and leather that was the prince’s scent. To find Dean, to find Dean, to find Dean. To find him, to wrap his wings around him, and to never let him go.

Castiel did none of that. He gripped the carrying bags tighter in his back talons and took off. He flew toward the Ryuu mountains and didn’t look back once.

Castiel's nest had been destroyed.

The dragon wasn’t exactly surprised, but that didn’t stop him from freezing in the entrance of his old home and staring at the destruction wrought on it with horror and sadness.

He knew it was foolish to return here, but he'd wanted to see his former home one more time before he headed over the Ryuu mountains to the east. He needed to get away from this valley. Maybe if he flew far enough, he would find a place that had never heard of Castiel, the bluefire dragon. Castiel, the killer. Castiel, the traitor. He'd planned to rest somewhere for a night and then start traveling east in the morning. His sentimentality might get him killed, but honestly, Castiel didn’t really care at this point. Dean had left, and he’d taken all the color and life in the world with him. At this point, if a garrison showed up wanting his head, he'd let them have it.

Castiel put his bags down slowly, eyes searching for anything in his home that _hadn’t_ been destroyed. It was a fruitless search. There was nothing. It was all broken, shattered, burnt.

He sat down in the entrance of his former nest, eyes heating to a nearly unbearable temperature.

What had once been a bright, open space had been torn apart. The light gray walls had been scorched black, the beautiful tapestries and paintings Castiel had collected over the years turned to ash. His nest was a gaping hole in the ground, the soft bedding torn up and strewn around, scorched and useless. The little plants he’d carefully observed over the years had been ripped up and burned down. The little mountain stream in the back of the cave was filthy and sluggish, the entrances into the mountain clogged with debris. Whoever had come to destroy Castiel’s home had done so thoroughly. There was nothing left.

The summer storm that had been rocking the valley had ascended, rising up the slope of the Ryuu mountain range. As Castiel’s tears finally fell, the rain fell with them.

The dragon trembled, acidic tears burning holes into the mountain beneath him. His wings were crumpled tight to his back, his nose and mouth streaming smoke. He was fucking _upset_. Everything fucking hurt, and he didn’t even know _why_.

Well yes, actually, he did. It was his fault.

Castiel had known his house would be burnt. He’d known there would be nothing left. He’d known he wasn’t welcome here anymore. He’d known that Dean was his last chance.

And somewhere… Somewhere he’d known that Dean wouldn’t last either.

Castiel’s tail curled around his body, a sad attempt at comfort. His chest ached. His face burned with the acidity of the tears streaming from his eyes. His vision was blurred, twisting the shattered remnants of his home into something he couldn’t even recognize.

Gods, he wished he could apologize. He wished he could go back and find Dean, wished he could make everything go back to how it was. To the days basking on the lake in the sunshine, to the summer flights, to watching the sunset on Eden. To the gentle, light atmosphere that had descended between him and that ridiculously amazing little human.

Castiel missed Dean.

He gave a rumbling sob, the rain streaming through the ruined roof. It mixed with Castiel’s tears, falling to the scorched cave floor. Like the stone and the nest, the relationship he’d had with Dean couldn’t be repaired. Castiel had _said_ things. Awful things. He'd hit Dean, hurt him. He’d called Dean a pest. He’d told him to leave. He’d seen the pain, the tears, in Dean’s eyes.

The human _had_ left. Castiel was alone.

Dean had slowly encouraged him to be _himself_ over these past few months. It was because of Dean that Castiel had felt confident enough to use his fire for the first time since being a fledgling. Dean had stayed in that gods-damned cave for months with Castiel, had smiled and laughed and tolerated his weird personality. He’d made Castiel feel like a real, living creature. Something that could be cherished and accepted for how he was, not for how he was different. Dean had even thought his fire was cool. He’d smiled.

He’d also called Castiel a killer.

It was true.

Castiel closed his eyes, remembering the shock on Ishim’s face. His fire had been a distant, legendary thing in the garrisons, too dangerous to let loose in the heat of battle. It was mostly a last resort. Something that gained Castiel respect while still keeping him at wing’s distance from everyone else. It was a way for his soldiers to revere him, fear him, and stay away. Castiel didn’t think any of them had ever actually _seen_ his fire, let alone had it directed right at them. He couldn’t imagine the terror Ishim must have felt in his last few seconds in the mortal realm.

To all of them, all of the other dragons, Castiel was a commodity. He was different, but he was powerful, so that was okay. Respected. Feared. Strange. Kept at a distance. Even to Castiel’s beloved older brothers, he’d been nothing more than a potential soldier, a way to boost their family’s status, a way to look better on the playground, or an insurance against bullies.

Dean… he’d liked Castiel for being _Castiel_. He hadn’t even known about his fire. He hadn’t even known he was a good soldier. Hell, Castiel had dropped him out of the sky! Dean had forgiven him. He’d become friends with him. He’d seen Castiel as a living creature, had taken him as he was. It was the most acceptance Castiel had ever received. His entire life, he’d been pushed away for being different, mocked for being awkward. Dean hadn’t done any of that. He’d simply… been.

They were both a little broken, Castiel supposed. He, himself, was tired of being alone. Tired of trying to be normal to gain approval. He was tired. Dean was too. He was broken and hurt and trying to find his footing in a world too harsh for a young creature of his own age. Castiel couldn’t imagine going through what Dean had at an age that wasn’t even older than a quarter of a century.

He missed Dean.

Castiel closed his eyes, his chest shaking, the rain streaming cold and wet down the grooves of his scales. It felt wrong to fly without that comforting, warm weight on his shoulders. Castiel wanted to go scoop up the prince, wanted to go watch the stars appear with him again. Gods, why had he _said_ those things?

Ishim… Ishim wasn’t worth a fraction of what Dean was. Dean’s life was so much more important than that of a disgraced soldier. He was so much more important than anything. Dean was _everything_.

Castiel loved him.

The dragon gave a soft, rumbling sob at that admission. It was true. He’d fought that for a while. He didn’t know when he’d figured it out. Maybe it was when he’d seen Dean’s face covered in blood from his nose, laughing and smiling because of the rush of flying. Maybe it was when he’d seen the green of Dean’s eyes, the heavens reflected in the golden flecks in his beautiful irises. Maybe it was when he’d first seen Dean smile, on that mountaintop outside Alastair’s cave, the sun warming his skin for the first time in four months. Whatever it was, whenever it was, it had happened. Castiel was in love with Dean Winchester. He, a dragon, was in love with a human. He was fine with that. He was.

He just… wished it didn’t have to hurt so badly.

Castiel moved slowly, his limbs feeling like they’d been weighed down. He dragged his bags deeper into the cave, away from the worst of the rain. 

Then, Castiel began to clean his home.

He carefully unclogged the stream in the back of the cave, his tears lessening when he saw that the water was running freely again. Castiel dumped the soggy debris into the trash on the other side of the mountain, making four or five trips until he’d managed to clean out all of the wreckage of his home. Some of the rain was washing away the ashen color of the rock, which was good. Castiel stared into the burnt-out shell of his former nest and inhaled shakily.

It was okay. He was going to be fine. He just needed to get some rest, and then he could fly east. He could get away, if only for a little while. Hopefully, whoever he met was someone who had never heard of Alastair or Syphon or Hell.

Castiel shifted forms wearily, tucking his smaller, aching wings against his back. Before he pulled bedding out of his bags, though, he knelt down and closed his eyes. It was a tradition among dragons to honor the dead. Traitor or not, Castiel would still respect that ritual.

“Ishim,” Castiel began, voice low and broken. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Ishim, I'm sorry.”

The wind was whistling around him, finding its way through the cave in soft gusts. It brought raindrops on its spindle currents, weaving in and out through the mountain peaks. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Below, in the valley, there was surely a spectacular lightning storm.

Castiel shifted a little, the stone of the cave floor biting into his folded knees. He kept his eyes closed, his head bowed.

He spoke again.

“I am sorry for taking your life. You were a great warrior. I’m sorry for the failures of our society, for the way they have turned brother against brother. I did not wish to fight you.” Castiel took a shuddering breath. “I did not wish to fight you. It… I did not want that. I didn’t want to hurt you. You were my friend.” The dragon gritted his teeth against the tightness in his chest, imagining the enraged, psychotic look in Ishim’s eyes, the way he’d snarled at Dean. “I regret your death, but I do not regret killing you,” Castiel said. “You were a great dragon, but Dean Winchester is a great man. He will end this war, one way or another. I could not allow you to harm him.”

Castiel hissed a breath, something hot surging up in his chest. He had to fight to push it back down. He recognized it. That possessive, impulsive need to protect, to mark and claim what was his. He wouldn’t have allowed Ishim to hurt Dean, even if the prince had been of no use to the war at all.

That had been the case for a while now, Castiel supposed.

“I hope that wherever you are,” the dragon continued, “you are at rest. I understand that these past few years have not been kind to you. They have not been kind to anyone. Dean is the key to winning the war, Ishim. I swear to you, that when the War on Syphon ends, your sacrifices will not be in vain. You were a great warrior. You still are. We just… don’t see things the same way, I think. I was once like you.” Castiel shuddered, thinking of the thousands of humans he’d killed on the battlefields. “Now, I suppose, I see differently. Clearly. 

“The truth is, my friend, humans are not so different than us. They fear each other and their own society’s opinions. They fight amongst themselves. They hurt each other. They also love each other, and the creatures around them.” Castiel smiled softly, remembering Dean talking about Baby, his horse, and Sammy, his little brother. “They are not the animals we made them out to be. To call them so is unfair and unjust. They love and hate just as beautifully as we do.

“I hope that there are no more like you,” Castiel told the air quietly. Truthfully. “I hope no other great dragons die with a false ideal held close to their chests. I hope we can all be at peace with each other one day. Until then, I ask for your forgiveness and for your protection in the coming weeks. Rest in peace, my friend.”

Castiel opened his eyes.

There was nothing before him but darkness and swirling wind. He hadn’t expected anything more.

The dragon squinted out at the storm rocking the mountainside, wondering where Dean was. He hoped the prince was safe. He hoped Dean was warm and dry, hoped he wasn’t afraid. 

For a moment, Castiel allowed himself to imagine where the prince was. Dean was probably asleep somewhere, perhaps curled up in a bed at the village. His green eyes would be closed, his freckled cheeks flushed with the warmth of human sleep, his plush lips parted slightly. He was beautiful.

He’d probably have a dagger nearby, because that was how Dean was. Perhaps under his pillow, or even strapped to his wrist. Despite the tranquility of his face, he’d probably be sleeping lightly, ready to wake at a moment’s notice.

Dean had told Castiel, once, that he only slept deeply around the dragon. _You make me feel safe_ , Dean had said quietly, looking almost embarrassed. _Kinda easier to sleep nice when there’s a fucking dragon sleepin’ next to you_.

Castiel smiled at that memory. Dragons didn’t sleep as much as humans normally did. He was happy to watch over Dean. The dragon’s smile slipped from his face as he realized Dean wasn’t here now. He had no one to watch over him. Dean would be alone tonight. Castiel too.

Castiel closed his eyes at the twinge of pain in his chest, remembering how he'd felt when he'd first realized that not only was he protective of Dean, he was _hoarding_ him. Castiel knew that dragons hoarded treasure; he'd done so himself, though not always with conventional gold and jewels. This time, though, he'd hoarded something far more precious than any kingdom's riches.

Castiel smiled sadly. That was what Dean was to him. His treasure.

The dragon turned and opened the large carrying bags, yanking out a few blankets. As he did, one of the shirts Dean had taken a liking to fell out. The name of a famous group of musicians among humans, _AC/DC_ , had been stitched into the fabric. Dean had told Castiel that the musicians in said group were very creative with their string instruments. He used to wear the shirt after a bath in the lake, taken right after he’d spent all morning training hard. Dean would be warm, his face heated by the sun, his teeth blindingly white as he scraped the edge of his sword to sharpness, that soft gray shirt holding onto his muscled torso.

Castiel put the fabric to his face. It smelled of the bag of herbs it had been pressed up against, but there was also a faintly familiar scent. One that was sweet and woodsy, with the pleasing tones of leather and whiskey mixed in.

_Dean_.

Castiel gave a small smile. He wrapped himself in blankets and tucked himself under the largest intact piece of stone available, far from the pounding rain. He pulled Dean’s shirt close to his face, the scent of the human warming something deep inside him.

In moments, Castiel was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that gave everyone some more insight into how Castiel was thinking. Also, shoutout to Sas, who accidentally gave me the idea that Dean is Castiel's treasure. For some reason, that makes me MELT. Don't worry, we'll see more of that. ;)
> 
> Once again, a happy birthday to our favorite boy. I hope you liked the chapter! See you all on Tuesday. ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning/afternoon/evening, my dear readers! How are all of you? Any snow, where you are? We were SUPPOSED to have snow, but someone fucked up the weather and now we don't. :( I want snow.
> 
> Anyway, I have another chapter for you! This one has no Cas (boo!) but the next has Cas... and Dean. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

Fifteen

_The battlefield was soaked in crimson and silver._

_The trenches were filled with a mixture of water and blood, the sodden ground sucking at the boots of the remaining soldiers as they hurried through. It was exhausting. Dean’s legs were burning. He kept running though, kept sprinting toward where Captain Benny Lafitte had finally chained the Dragon King’s other wing._

_It was the middle of the third day. Dean was exhausted. He and the remaining thirty-four men had been fighting for three days straight, following eight days of traveling and tracking Azazel. They’d finally cornered the Dragon King on the slopes of this mountain, where the dragon was now chained._

_Four grappling hooks were snarled cruelly in the dragon’s enormous leather wings. Their ends were buried ten feet underneath solid earth, firm anchors in the ground. The water cannons, carefully aimed and fired, kept Azazel from using the worst of his fire. If it wasn’t for those cannons, the entirety of the dragon-killing party would be long dead._

_As it was, one hundred and sixty-six bodies littered the field outside of the trenches. Only thirty-four men remained of the original group that had been sent by King John Winchester. Despite the incredible losses, the king refused to pull back. He seemed to have forgotten that among the group that had been condemned to die, his firstborn son remained. He seemed to forget about that a lot, these days._

_At this point, killing Azazel wasn’t even about fear anymore. It wasn’t about revenge. It wasn’t about winning the war. It was just purely survival. John Winchester couldn’t beat the shit out of Dean if he failed, because if he failed, that would mean that he was dead. Azazel was fucking_ pissed, _and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He wasn’t going to leave this battlefield until every last one of them was dead, either._

_Azazel was slowly being dragged down to earth, the great chains of the grappling hooks straining as they were slowly reeled in. The dragon was pounding at them with his spiked tail, his wings tearing and spraying droplets of silver blood as he flapped them to try to gain altitude. One of the grappling hook catapults was groaning in a nerve-wracking manner. It helped spur Dean on in his desperate sprint through the half-dug trenches of the battlefield._

_“How close are we?” he shouted hoarsely at Benny as the Captain of the Guard joined him, breath sawing in his throat._

_“Forty feet,” Benny puffed out. He was running beside Dean, leaping over the crouched bodies of the survivors and the dead bodies of the others. They had run from the south catapult to the east catapult, and were now heading to the center, trying to get there before Azazel met the ground. “What do you… What do you intend to d-huh-do?”_

_Dean ducked under a spear stuck into the wall. “I’m gonna cut his throat open,” he replied, breath too short to allow for much elaboration. It wasn’t like that needed much explanation anyway. Benny knew why they were here. He knew what Dean was here to do._

_They got to the center of the battlefield just as the tips of Azazel’s wings were brushing the ground. The Dragon King roared, the back of his mouth glowing with fire. One of the water cannons fired, landing a perfect shot right down the dragon’s throat. Dean silently thanked the gods for Kevin and Garth’s aim._

_“You got about thirty seconds, brother,” Benny wheezed. “Make sure you avoid the-“_

_His next words were lost as Dean launched himself out of the trench._

_The sprint across the battlefield would stay with Dean for the next few years of his life, haunting him nearly every night. He wasn’t entirely sure he would ever forget it. The coldness of the mountain air sliced through his lungs. The mud of the battlefield sucked at the bottoms of his dragon-leather boots, weighing down every step he took. His steps squelched in a mixture of water and blood, both the crimson of humans and the silver of dragons. Ahead of Dean, Azazel finally met the mud of the battlefield._

_The Dragon King was a sight to behold. He was one of the oldest living dragons, and because dragons got bigger as they got older, that meant that Azazel was easily larger than two of Lawrence’s castle’s towers combined. His scales, slate gray like the Ryuu mountains in the winter, were covered in silver blood._

_He snarled as Dean sprinted toward him, yellow eyes narrowing. They were glowing with pure hatred, the rage and fury in them a harsh contrast to the smug confidence from the night Azazel had killed Mary Winchester. The smell coming off the dragon was intense, one of sulfur and smoke and rotting flesh. Heat radiated off the dragon’s scales as Dean neared. When the prince drew his sword, the rumble Azazel gave was deep, powerful enough to rattle his bones._

_There was no honor in killing a downed dragon. But then again, there was no honor in killing a defenseless child or an unarmed woman, either._

_Dean plunged his sword deep into the side of Azazel’s neck. He dragged it through unyielding scales and thick muscle, dragged it through the_ pop _of the tube where fire shot up from the fire pouch in the chest. Dean slit the dragon’s throat as deeply and cleanly as he could, and then he stood by and watched as the hateful light died from Azazel’s eyes. The battlefield ran silver with rivers of blood._

_Only when the dragon’s body stopped twitching and fighting did Dean step forward and painstakingly carve the crown of horns from Azazel’s skull. It ended up being as big as Baby and needing three pack-horses to drag it back to Lawrence. For once, John Winchester was proud of his son. That pride would soon dissipate in the fervor of war, as would Dean’s hope that they could return to normal. There was no normal anymore. The War on Syphon didn’t die simply because the Dragon King had. It continued, and so did the fighting._

_No one seemed to pay any mind to the dead dragon after that. Save for a single week of celebration and feasting, Azazel’s death wasn’t acknowledged. The war raged on. The humans continued to fight the dragons, and the dragons continued to fight the humans._

_The Ryuu mountains seemed to be the only thing that mourned the great Dragon King’s death. The silver stain of his drained blood remained imprinted onto the rocks of the mountainside for a very, very long time._

_The scene changed, in the prince’s mind. It went from the silver stain of blood on the mountainside to the familiar dim darkness of a cave. Only this wasn’t a warm, comforting darkness, tucked away safely against a softly breathing dragon. This was the cruel, cold kind of darkness. The one that threatened to swallow Dean whole._

_He jerked in his bindings, absolutely_ sure _that he wasn’t supposed to be here. Castiel had saved him, he’d taught him to fly and he’d nursed him back to health and he’d… He’d… He’d kicked him out._

_“That’s right,” a nasally voice crooned. “He didn’t want you anymore, just like dear old Daddy. You’re stuck with me now, Dean.”_

_“No,” Dean grunted, jerking on his bindings. When he found he couldn’t move, his panic ratcheted up to unbearable heights. “No!”_

_“Poor little princeling, never enough for the ones he loves,” Alastair hissed. He was close now. Dean thought he could see the glow of gray eyes in the darkness. “So you come back to me, just like you always do. Like you’re destined to.”_

_“Fuck off,” Dean gasped, terrified. He struggled, panicking. “Cas! Cas, please! Castiel!”_

_Alastair laughed cruelly. “He can’t hear you. If he did, he wouldn’t come. And even_ if _he ever came to you, he would be long dead before he ever reached you. Who knows? Maybe he already did and I already split his throat open and bled him against the rocks, like you did with my brother!”_

_Dean tried to shout angrily at the dragon, but all that came out was a sob. “Don’t hurt him. Please.”_

_“He’s a traitor, Dean. He betrayed his kind because of you. His death will be your fault,” Alastair snarled._

_He was definitely close now. Dean strained his eyes in the darkness, desperate, trying to see the glow of familiar silver eyes that had brought him so much pain. “Alastair.” It was meant to sound commanding. It sounded more like a sob. “Please, don’t hurt him.”_

_“I’ll kill him, just like I’ll kill your precious Sammy and your bastard of a father,” Alastair hissed. He’d said those words before, Dean knew it. His heart was beating so hard now, he was sure it was going to explode out of his chest._

_“Alastair,_ please _-“_

_“Silence, you little rat! You’re an infestation! A pest!” Those words sounded familiar. They had been spoken by a rumbling, gravelly voice instead, which made them hurt more than Alastair could ever hope to replicate._

_“Please…” Dean begged._

_“You’d better save your voice, Dean,” Alastair advised, his voice lowering to a slithery, intimate tone. “I have a feeling you’ll be here for a long, long time.”_

Dean jerked awake, hand automatically going to his dagger. His body swayed unpleasantly, Prius’s steady gait rocking Dean’s body side to side.

Fuck, he must have drifted off again. Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead, his hands trembling. It wasn’t the first time he’d ever had a nightmare about Alastair, or about the day he’d killed Azazel, but it was the first time they’d been right after one another. It was also the first time Alastair had ever mentioned anything _Cas_ had said. It left Dean’s limbs shaky and weak.

The forest around him was quiet and cool, the sun half-risen and staining the backs of the Ryuu mountains with gold. Dean had taken Prius from the village the night before, as well as some replacement clothes and some food. Then he’d taken off into the darkness and rain, intent on covering as much ground as he could before he needed to stop. It seemed he'd only slept a few hours before getting back on the road, but apparently he'd needed more rest than that, if he'd accidentally fallen asleep. When Dean had started out again, it had been to the first rays of dawn. Now, it seemed, it was morning.

Gods, how long had they been traveling this road?

Prius, while being shabby and wholly unspectacular, at least seemed to have very good stamina. Dean wasn’t exactly light, and the horse was still plodding along. It looked to be around midmorning, the sun rising behind wispy clouds. Dean blinked sleepily up at the Ryuu mountains, then blinked again. His eyes widened, heart beginning to thud in his chest. He knew that formation. He knew these trees. Somehow, in the darkness, he must have missed just how far they'd traveled.

_Home_.

Dean sat up straight in the saddle, groaning as the agony of his spine and back made themselves known. His injuries from the fight with Ishim the day before ached too. But all that faded into the background as he recognized the path they were walking along, the familiar bushes and rock formations bringing tears, unbidden, to Dean’s eyes.

“Fuck, man,” he whispered to himself. He stared at the forest around him, trying to figure out exactly where he was. Once that had been achieved, Dean mentally calculated how far he was from Lawrence. If he was correct in his calculations and geography, it seemed Dean was only a few hours away, at this rate. “Fucking shit.”

Perhaps the gods had decided he’d suffered enough. They’d guided him home.

Blinking away the tears in his eyes, Dean urged Prius to move a little faster. The horse made a dismayed snort, instead seeming to go _slower_. Dean huffed and slid off the creature’s back, needing to get some energy out anyway. It would do the horse good to have less weight to carry.

“How’d you know?” Dean suddenly asked, turning to look at the horse’s dark eyes. “How’d you know where to go?” He stared, amazed, at the old gray stallion. 

After an awkward silence, Dean sagged. Prius didn’t reply, which made sense. Dean’s head dipped to face the ground again as he remembered that Prius couldn’t understand him. Right. Castiel was pretty special that way. Horses weren’t dragons. Horses didn’t understand him. Horses weren’t Castiel.

That elated feeling of being almost home disappeared.

Dean glanced around at the familiar trees and trail, knowing he would reach the city walls soon. He wished Castiel could be there, wished the dragon could see the castle and the people and the city. He’d probably be so interested in everything, might tilt his head in that adorable way of his, attempting to configure all the new information in his head. Dean wished the dragon was just _here_ , just walking beside him with his warm, steady presence and his sweet, gummy smile.

Shit, that hurt. Thinking of Castiel _hurt_. Dean resolved to stop doing it.

Prius huffed and flicked his ears, head dropping between his shoulders again. Dean tried to interpret the movement on instinct, remembering how Castiel did that same thing when he was trying to communicate a change of direction. With Prius, it didn’t do much. There wasn’t the same life, the same intelligent light, in Prius’s dark eyes.

Dean kept walking.

Walking, actually, helped him forget about the dragon. It made his feet ache with pain, made him realize how fucking hot it was in this forest. Dean was hot and thirsty and tired and aching and sore and homesick and weak and _not thinking about Castiel_.

It worked.

Around midday, the city walls came into view. Dean joined the small trickle of people entering in and out of Lawrence’s gates. He hopped back onto Prius’s back just to get above the crowd once they entered the kingdom, eager to see how his city had changed in a year of his absence.

As it turned out… not much. The citizens still bickered good-naturedly in the streets. The alleys still baked under the heat of the sun. Hawks and birds still circled overhead, some perching on the roofs of nearby shops or houses to look for prey in the form of garbage of rats. The castle still loomed a mile or so ahead, sitting at the center of the city proper.

Dean smiled, despite the dragon-shaped hole in his chest. He’d missed his home.

No one noticed him. He was a dusty traveler, just like the rest of them. It was only as he got nearer to the castle, where the houses started getting nicer and everyone was riding a horse, that people began to notice. They turned to look at him and his shabby clothes, his unspectacular horse and his hidden face. Dean didn’t spare any of them a glance. He was too close now to stop.

No one really _really_ noticed him until he reached the gates themselves. 

Dean came to a stop before the enormous double gate, eyeing the two guards out front. One of them wasn’t one he recognized, a tall, stocky man, but the other…

Jo Harvelle’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. “Tell me I’m hallucinating,” she said, voice soft with awe. 

Dean gave her a tired half-smile. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

For once, Jo didn’t have a snappy comeback. She just stared, eyes wide. “ _Dean?_ ” came the whispered, disbelieving question.

“Hey, Jo,” Dean replied. His voice was thick and choked with emotion, which had _not_ been his intention. Damned tears. They always showed up at the wrong fucking times. Still... It was good to see a familiar face. “How are you?”

Dean couldn’t really comprehend what happened next, only that in the span of a second he was being yanked from the saddle and down to a staggered standing position, Jo’s arms wrapped tightly around him. “Oh my _gods_ , Dean, we thought you were _dead_ -Holy shit, Sam and Bobby and Ellen and Benny-They’re all gonna-we’re all-oh my gods.”

Dean laughed wetly, hugging her back. It felt good to be hugged, even though Castiel’s hugs were nicer, somehow. Warmer, maybe. Or maybe it was just the dragon himself. Dean’s muscles felt weak, even as he hugged Jo. All he wanted to do was sit down, his whole body suddenly aching with tiredness. “Good to see you too. Can I come in?”

Jo gave a little half sob, nodding into his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, come on home.”

She gestured at the other guard, who was staring at Dean like he was a ghost. At Jo’s motion, though, the guard turned and yanked on the lever that would let the gates open. They creaked as they slowly swung inward, just like they had when Dean had left. He gave a tearful grin up at the wide wooden slats, knees wobbling as he took his first steps back home.

Jo had an arm wrapped tight around his shoulders, as if he would disappear if she let go. “I’m gonna go find Benny. Your father is in a meeting right now. He…” She paused, giving Dean a sideways look. Something cold settled in Dean’s gut at that look. “He’s not… the same as before. But I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. He’ll be done in a few hours.”

Dean smiled, trying to cover up the dread that had begun to curl around the base of his spine. He was a little relieved that John wasn’t there at the moment, and a little guilty that he was relieved. “Alright. Sounds good, Jo.”

“Don’t… Don’t go far, alright?” Jo asked, looking a little anxious. “Please? Stay in the courtyard, at least.”

Dean’s smile turned a little sad. He wasn’t going to be plucked out of the air by another dragon. At least, hopefully. Or maybe not. He wouldn’t mind it if the dragon were Castiel. “Don’t worry, Jo. I’ve got nothing for me out there.”

She gave him a small smile and hugged him again, then turned and ran for the guard’s quarters. Dean made a half-step to go follow her, then hesitated. He wouldn’t go _far_. It was just… well, he had a very special girl to go visit.

Dean turned and headed for the stables at the end of the courtyard. It was huge, the summer sun beating down on the stones, just like Dean remembered. He reveled in the heat, smiling softly at the familiarity. The castle loomed off to the right. When the sun went down, its shadow would stretch all the way across the city walls and touch the base of the mountains. 

The servants and maids moving around the courtyard took no notice of Dean, which was kind of nice. Before, he’d had to endure the embarrassment of everyone pausing to bow to him as he passed. Now, no one paid any mind to the dusty traveler going to put his even dustier horse up in the stables.

Dean’s legs felt like they were going to give out by the time he reached the stable doors. One of the stable boys, who’d taken Prius when Jo had tugged him through the gates, was already leading the horse to the guest stables. Dean, though… He had stopped at the royal stables. Dean inhaled slowly, enjoying the soft smells of hay and horses and leather. With a small smile, the Prince of Lawrence stepped into the stables.

It was dim and quiet inside, just like he remembered. Dean headed for the familiar stall on autopilot, his legs weak now that he was nearly there. His steps were soft and silent on the rough wood of the stable floor. All around, the gentle noises of horses eating and resting came to his ears.

Dean came to a stop at the last space in the stable. It was the biggest, right next to John’s horse, and Sam’s. This one was special, reserved for his special girl.

Baby didn’t immediately raise her dark head to greet him, simply because she was engrossed in the floppy-haired boy standing in front of her. It looked as if he was feeding her apples. She did give a surprised whinny, however, when she spotted Dean.

Dean didn’t even have time to say hello to her, because the boy in her stall was turning and his familiar hazel eyes were widening with recognition.

“ _DEAN!!!_ ”

Dean grunted as a cannonball of little brother struck him hard in the chest. Gangly arms that had more muscle than he remembered wrapped themselves around his torso, squeezing unbearably tight. The patented little brother scent reached his nose, along with leather and old pages.

Dean made a noise that was half laugh, half sob, slinging his arms tight around the boy hugging him.

“Heya, Sammy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Cas, but there IS a Sam. We like seeing Sam, right? Right. I love Sam, but he's hard to write sometimes. XD
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! As I said, the next chapter gets... spicy. I won't say any more, but those favorite chapters I was telling you about? Yeah. ;)
> 
> See you all on Saturday!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, hello! I am your beloved Count Olaf.
> 
> Just kidding. Hello! I am SO excited to post this chapter for you, you have NO idea. I really hope you like this chapter more than the last one. After the hell that was finals this past week, I'm in the mood for some reunion, yeah?
> 
> Yeah, right. :)
> 
> Anyway, I won't spoil anything. I hope you enjoy this one! ;)

**Sixteen**

It seemed that Castiel was more tired than he’d originally thought.

He jerked awake to the sound of wingbeats. When he glanced around, eyes wild, he found that it was already mid afternoon. He’d slept through the entire night. The rain had passed, leaving the sun gleaming and the sky a beautiful blue.

Someone was coming.

Castiel was tempted to grab his bags and duck out of his cave as fast as he could, but with the supplies he was weighed down with and the aching of overused muscles in his wings, he didn’t think he wanted to take the chance, in case it was someone like Ishim who could almost match him in speed and stamina. There weren’t any caves for miles around, but the dragon could just be passing through. If Castiel stayed, he could probably hide in the cave. Why would anyone be coming here anyway? Technically, it would be fucking stupid for him to come back and hide in his own cave after what he’d done to Ishim. Technically, he should be flying as far and fast to the east as he could right now. Technically, he shouldn’t be hesitating here, wondering if there was still time to go after a certain human prince.

The wingbeats were coming closer.

It was too late now to hope for escape. If Castiel tried to leave, the dragon would surely see and hear him. They might call reinforcements, and that would be _really_ bad. Castiel needed to hide.

He tugged his bags behind a large outcropping of stone, figuring they could be hidden well enough there. Then he ducked into a far corner of his cave, tucking his wings in a well-practiced manner that hid the blue undertones of his body. If the dragon came looking, Castiel would still be visible, of course. It was daytime, and he was in his human form. Under the cover of night, he would be nearly impossible to see. Hopefully, though, his makeshift hiding place in the corner, among the stalagmites, would be enough to keep him hidden.

The dragon was definitely coming closer. Castiel prayed that they didn’t come into the cave itself. Even if it wasn’t directly incriminating, the fact that his cave had been cleaned would surely tip anyone off that he’d been there. He hoped the dragon who was flying toward his cave now wasn’t smart enough to figure that he might still be here.

The wingbeats became a thud in his ears, loud enough to be a good sized dragon, but not enormous like Ishim or any of Castiel’s oldest brothers. Maybe he could fight the dragon and knock them out before he made his escape.

Castiel held his breath as the dragon came to a fluttering stop in the entrance of his cave. He squinted at the pillars of rock that were hiding the dragon from view, trying to shift ever-so-slightly so he could see who it was.

Maroon scales, a familiar flapped ridge… “Anna?”

The dragon yelped, rose wings flying wide. Yes, that was definitely Anna. Castiel would recognize the gold whorls on her wings anywhere.

He realized he’d blown his cover and stepped out from behind the maze of stalagmites, wings lowered in a way that offered no aggression.

Anna was staring at him with wide dark eyes. There was a moment where she seemed to be trying to communicate with low rumblings, before she remembered that he was in human form and that she was a dragon. There was a brief period of silence, and then Anna was shrinking to Castiel’s size. Her female human form looked shocked and a little afraid. “Castiel?” she whispered. “My gods. What are you _doing_ here?”

Castiel could only blink at her, unable to formulate a sentence for a moment. Gods, he’d missed Anna. And here she was, part of his family, part of his _home_. She wasn’t attacking him. She didn’t even seem angry to see him. She just seemed… surprised.

“I… I came here to rest before I moved east,” Castiel replied quietly.

Anna’s wings wilted a little. “So you _were_ in the valley.” She eyed him with dark, intelligent eyes. “I didn’t want to believe them, when they said that the fire mark on Ishim’s body was only hot enough to be bluefire. I was hoping you’d just flown east and weren’t even here anymore. It seems I was wrong to hope, wasn’t I?”

Castiel swallowed, wings tucking themselves close to his body in shame. “You were. I killed Ishim.”

Anna’s mouth tightened. “I won’t condemn you right away. I have a feeling that’s happened too much in the past few years. I will allow you to explain yourself before I make my judgement in how I should deal with finding you here.”

Castiel nodded, profoundly grateful for his sister’s wisdom and kindness. Of anyone to find him, Anna was the best. She was gentle and kind, as well as smart. She wouldn’t just try to kill him without hearing him out first.

“He tried to kill me.” Castiel swallowed, trying to fight past the tightness of his throat. “He chased me and... me and Dean.”

“The Righteous Man?” Anna clarified.

“Yes,” Castiel replied.

“So you retrieved him successfully. That was you, too?” Anna asked, eyebrows rising slightly in surprise.

“Yes.” Castiel sighed, wings releasing from his back slightly. He refused to be ashamed of saving Dean. “Ishim chased us through the mountains. When we finally landed, he attacked me and tried to kill Dean. Anna, it was him or me. I… I had to.”

Anna’s eyes were narrowing slightly. “You say ‘us’. Does that mean…?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, refusing to be ashamed of Dean riding on his back either. They made a fantastic team, when they were in tune with each other. Dean was an incredible shot and an amazing flier. “It does.”

“You aren’t humiliated.” It wasn’t a question. Anna was simply stating a fact, her wings low, but open. She was listening.

“I’m not. Dean Winchester is incredible at flying on my back,” Castiel replied, willing his voice to stay steady and firm. “He is an unbelievable shot with a bow. He also managed to earn my respect. I would not have given him permission to ride my back had he been a weak-willed coward.”

“And is he?” Anna asked, eyebrow arching.

Castiel’s shoulders tensed, his hands curling into fists. He may be at a strange place with Dean now, but he knew that whatever the human was, he was _not_ a coward. “I just said he wasn’t, did I not? Dean Winchester is one of the bravest, most courageous humans I know.”

“You don’t know many humans,” Anna pointed out.

“I’ve fought plenty,” Castiel replied firmly. “I know a warrior when I see one.”

“Is he a warrior capable of ending the war?” Anna asked. Castiel could read the undertone of her question. _Is he a warrior worth all of this trouble? All of this pain?_

“He is,” Castiel said, voice quieter and more choked now.

“Where is he, then?” Anna asked, glancing around. When Castiel didn’t answer right away, her eyes returned to his face. She frowned. “What did you do?”

Castiel swallowed thickly. “I… I hurt him. I hit him and threw him out into the rain. He isn’t with me anymore.”

Anna narrowed her eyes. “Why? You are not a fool, Castiel. At least, not in the time I’ve known you.”

Castiel flinched, looking down at the floor. It was easier to speak to the stone than the fire in Anna’s dark eyes. “He-He… I suppose he didn’t do anything.” Castiel swallowed, shoulders and wings sagging. “He was just trying to protect me. _I_ killed Ishim. I did it to protect him. And…. And I would do it again.” Castiel’s eyes rose to meet Anna’s. He found her gaze to be stony and unreadable, but he forced himself to hold it. “I would do it again, and I guess that scared me. I was scared because I… because I willingly killed one of my own former friends to save him. I chose _him_ over my own kind. And I blamed him. I got scared. So I threw him out and kicked him away, because I was afraid of… Of…”

“Of loving him.”

Castiel flinched, looking up at Anna. Her face was neutral. Stony. But her eyes… there was something almost warm there. “You’re not angry?” Castiel asked.

Anna sighed, looking away. “I’m scared, Castiel. Despite your mistakes and your betrayal, I still care for you. I can see your devotion to the human. I ask you _why_. You aren’t the first, you know, but you may be the last.”

Castiel flinched, thinking of Lucifer. He’d fallen in love with a human too. A princess by the name of Kelly Kline. It had been his downfall. “I fear the same, Anna. I’m not a fool, whatever you may think of me as.”

Anna frowned, looking him over. Her eyes returned to his face, firm but gentle. “You are my brother. You will never cease to be. But I beg you to decide. You cannot go east, you know that. You cannot run from this. Like it or not, the gods have decided you have a part to play in this war. So you must decide.”

“Decide what?” Castiel asked, a little desperate. “I cannot go back home. You know that. I can’t go to Dean either.”

Anna snorted. “Castiel, I can see in your eyes that your feelings are not unrequited. You know the power you hold over that human just the same as you know the power he holds over you. You _must_ decide what you’re going to do. Will you find him and fight, or will you choose to be loyal to our king? There are still ways to win back his favor.” Anna paused, eyes narrowing a little. “You know this. You know you can still be welcomed home. So you need to look inside yourself and decide where you want to go, what you want to do. I cannot make the decision for you. No one can.”

Castiel opened his mouth to argue, to say that he very well _could_ go east, could say _fuck it_ and leave. He could jump into the air right now and fly far, far away and never return. 

That would be a lie, though.

The truth was… He’d come to this cave because he’d wanted to come home. But he’d stayed, because he _couldn’t_ leave. He couldn’t. He needed Dean. He loved Dean. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knew he’d left this valley to be torn apart by war and hatred. He would be haunted at night by images of Dean being hurt and broken, whether by other dragons or by his own father. Castiel would wonder if Dean ever succeeded in keeping Sam safe from battle, or if the youngest Winchester would soon be dragged into the black hole that was war. Castiel wouldn’t be able to live knowing he’d just _left_ Dean.

“I won’t go east.”

“No,” Anna agreed, shaking her head. “What will you do?”

Castiel reflected that he was very grateful for his sister. She alone, out of the many dragons Castiel had known in his childhood, had never judged him. Anna was one of the only dragons Castiel had ever had true respect for, save for Gabriel and Gadreel. Anna wasn’t judging him now, either. She was just patiently waiting. Castiel knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that if he suddenly _did_ burst into flight and head east, she would never hate him. It wasn’t in her nature.

That knowledge, that he would be accepted no matter what he chose, was what made Castiel decide.

“I won’t go east,” he repeated. “I’ll stay. And I’ll find Dean again. I need to. Then we can stop the war together.”

Anna’s mouth twisted into a small smile. “Very well. I’m glad you’ve decided, Castiel.”

He gave her a watery smile of his own. “I cannot thank you enough, Anna. You… You have no idea how much your acceptance means to me.”

She shrugged. “My love is unconditional. Despite the fact that you are an absolute idiot, you’re still my younger brother. It would take a lot more to make me hate you.” She gave him a small, warm smile. “I can only hope your prince is the same.” 

“He is,” Castiel said, nodding. It was true. Dean loved unconditionally and fiercely.

“Then I suppose I should fly away and pretend I never saw you,” Anna said, glancing back at the sky.

“Why were you here in the first place?” Castiel asked, curious.

She gave him a small shrug. “I have prayed to the gods for your good health. I figured doing it here, in the remains of your nest, was the best way to be close to you.”

Castiel’s chest filled with warmth. He couldn’t hold back the grin that broke across his face, or the way his body sort of just moved toward Anna of its own accord. She gave him a matching watery smile and wrapped her arms and wings around him, the pine and honey scent of her reaching his nose.

“I missed you,” Castiel murmured. “Thank you, Anna.”

She gave him a squeeze. “I missed you too. Be careful.”

“You as well,” Castiel replied. “Forget this ever happened. I have a feeling you will not be treated kindly if the others knew of this.”

Anna nodded. She pulled away, wiping the tears from her dark eyes. “Good luck, Castiel.”

“Thank you. Perhaps after the war we can speak again,” Castiel said. He gave her a small smile. “Goodbye Anna.”

She smiled back. “Goodbye, Castiel.”

Anna’s form began to shift, morphing from a small human woman to a large female dragon. Castiel watched as she dipped her head in farewell, then spread her rose-and-gold wings to catch a mountain breeze. In the space of a few heartbeats, she was gone.

Castiel stepped out, looking down the mountainside and into the valley. Off to the left, hidden from view by more mountains, the kingdom of Lawrence lay nestled. The lake was closer to Lawrence than Castiel’s cave was. He had no doubt that Dean was already there, especially if he’d headed out the night before.

Castiel shifted forms with a simple thought, his head rising toward the roof of his cave as his body morphed into that of a dragon. The wind on his face felt good as he stepped into it. He would leave his bags behind. He didn’t need them, where he was going.

Castiel set his sights for the human kingdom of Lawrence, his heart swelling at the idea of seeing Dean again. He could patch this up between them. He _would_.

Castiel spread his wings and flew.

Castiel landed low in the trees outside of Lawrence. He was confident no one had seen him. The alarm bells in the city would have gone off if they had.

He took a moment to try to figure out how this was going to go. Dean was most likely in the castle, which would mean that getting to him would be a challenge. If Castiel appeared as a dragon, they wouldn’t hesitate to try to kill him. He didn’t know if Dean even wanted to speak to him anymore. He wouldn’t blame the human if that was the case.

Castiel shook his head, trying to remain optimistic. He had to start _somewhere_.

From above, the humans seemed to be congregating en masse in a large square in the center of the city. It was strange enough that Castiel figured he could shift into human form to see what was going on. As far as he knew, that only happened if something important was happening. Perhaps he’d find Dean there.

Castiel used the dragon wings of his human form to flap up to a nearby tower. It was harder to gain altitude and stay there when he was flying in human form. His wing-to-body proportions were off, making it harder to stay in the air. That didn’t even take into account the lack of streamline his human form had. 

None of the humans noticed him as he flapped quietly up to the rooftops and traveled to the center of the town that way. If any of them happened to look up, with the way his wings were tucked, he would look like a normal person who had somehow managed to get on top of a random building. Hopefully, at least. If that wasn’t the case, it didn’t look like there were a lot of armed humans. Maybe he’d be able to shift and get out fast enough to survive.

Castiel narrowed his eyes as he settled on a rooftop bordering the square, taking in the nervous, upset murmurings of the crowd. There were a _lot_ of humans. The soldier in Castiel couldn’t help but think that one well-placed fireball could cause mass destruction.

He shook that thought away with disgust, instead choosing to focus on the things in the _center_ of the crowd.

The humans had all circled around an enormous stone square. In the center, there looked to be a large wooden pole built up. There was a platform attached to the pole, and a large stack of sticks and logs underneath the platform. Across the square, there was another post in the ground, this one a simple wooden one with an iron ring. Castiel frowned at both devices, wondering what they were for.

Then he spotted the four men standing at the edge of the crowd. One carried a whip. Another carried a torch. The final two looked to be a prisoner and some royal of sorts. Ah. So this was a public execution. The small pole was for whipping, and the bigger one was… well, it was a stake.

_I had no idea humans did that anymore_ , Castiel thought, frowning. It seemed barbaric. Of course, so was melee fighting among dragons. Perhaps both practices should be… updated.

As Castiel watched, the nobleman shoved the prisoner forward. The bound man staggered as he crossed the square, as if he was injured. Castiel frowned, something familiar clicking in his mind. He watched as the prisoner knelt at the base of the small wooden pole, docilely presenting his wrists. He didn’t look to be fighting much. The man with the whip chained his shackles to the iron ring in the metal pole, then took a step back, whip gripped tightly in hand.

Castiel frowned, narrowing his eyes even more so he could get a better look. That man on the ground… He looked familiar. Terrifyingly familiar. 

As the man with the whip raised it in the air, Castiel recognized the prisoner’s cut of hair, the bow of the head. He would know the slope of those shoulders anywhere, the bow of those legs.

The man that was being publicly executed was _Dean_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahahaha. Welcome to the Speed ROLLERCOASTER, bitches!
> 
> Okay, okay, calm down. I need to take a chill pill too. It's just that I'm so EXCITED. I can't wait to post the next few chapters. They are LITERALLY my favorites. I can't wait. It'll be fun. 
> 
> See you all soooon! ;)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my friends. Y'all have NO idea how excited I am for this chapter. I hope you are too. We're coming off a BRUTAL cliffhanger (sorry, not sorry) and we've been due for some closure for a long time now. 
> 
> Some of your reactions to the last chapter were freaking HILARIOUS. I love you guys. I hope you love this. ;)
> 
> Also, here's some FANTASTIC fanart from Phantom31615. They did AMAZING!

**Seventeen**

Dean still didn’t really know what the fuck was going on.

After seeing Sammy, he’d sunk to his knees on the stable floor and cried with his not-so-little-anymore brother held tightly in his arms. That was how Benny and Jo found them. Benny very nearly broke Dean’s ribs when he wrapped him up in a hug.

After that, it was an endless string of crying and seeing people he thought he’d never see again. Bobby very nearly had a heart attack when Sam burst into his office, screaming that Dean was home. Ellen hugged Dean hard, then promptly remarked that he was way too skinny and needed to eat. Missouri, the Head Nurse, managed to get in through the fray of people welcoming Dean home. She treated his burns and cuts with gentle hands and tear-filled eyes, a small smile on her lips. When she’d finished, she promptly kissed him on the forehead.

Ellen was in the middle of trying to force Dean to eat a pie and a ham sandwich at the same time when John appeared. Someone, most likely one of the servants or guards, had told him his eldest son was, in fact alive.

Dean noticed how everyone seemed to tense when John showed up. It made him uneasy. Jo’s words came back to him. _He… He’s not… the same as before_.

That was an understatement.

John Winchester seemed to have aged a hundred years in the months Dean had been gone. His hair was graying, his once-youthful face lined and old. His dark eyes had a glint of cold cruelness to them that Dean was used to only seeing during beatings. His hands were hard and rough as he tugged Dean out of the embrace of his friends and into an awkward, one-armed hug. “Where have you been, son?”

It wasn’t _welcome home_. Not _I missed you_ , or _I love you_ , or _thank the gods you’re safe_.

_Where have you been, son?_

Dean snorted, brushing past it, and gave his father a small smile. “You wouldn’t believe it, Dad. Seriously, it’s insane.” He was feeling giddy and excited after seeing his friends and family. The dark hole of sadness that Castiel had left behind in his heart was partially forgotten about.

John Winchester beckoned for Dean to follow him from the entry hall of the castle to the throne room, where some of Dean’s friends dispersed and the rest settled nervously around the room. Dean looked up at his father, at the crown of horns mounted above the thrones on the back wall. He wondered at the obvious anxiety pouring off Sam and Bobby and the rest of his family. It was making him uneasy. What did they have to be worried about? Bobby looked like he was about to pull Dean out of the room and hide him away.

“What happened?” John asked, settling into his throne. His movements were stiff and painful, as if his joints were hurting. “Tell me everything. How did you escape that bastard Alastair?”

“I-uh…” Dean gave a little dry laugh, trying to force some of the pain in his chest away as he remembered. “A dragon saved me.” Yes, a dragon. A beautiful, handsome dragon.

“A dragon _saved_ you?” John asked, incredulous. He'd stiffened where he sat.

“Yeah. He swooped in and stole me away from Alastair while the asshole was out doing stuff,” Dean replied. He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling despite himself. “His name is Castiel. He-“

“It has a _name?_ ” John asked, frowning. “Why the fuck did it save you? Wanted to eat you for itself, did it?”

Dean shook his head, eyes bright. It was easier to talk about Castiel like this, to explain to his father the plan the dragon had had. It was a brilliant one. Dean intended to still carry it out, even if Castiel didn’t want him anymore. “No, Dad. You wouldn’t believe it. It was amazing. He wanted to save me so we could work together. I… I flew on his back. It was incredible.” Had Dean been less wrapped up in the excitement of finally being home and more aware of his surroundings, he would have noticed the horror on his friends’ faces and the fury slowly building on John’s. Sam looked like he was going to say something, but Benny held him back. Dean kept talking. “The dragons… They’re just like us. Castiel was a savage warrior, like the legends say, but he’s also just as gentle as a human can be. It was amazing. He-“

“You’re saying a dragon saved you so that you could end the war,” John cut in, voice low and flat, “together. A _dragon_ saved you from its own king to end a war that _its own species_ started?”

Dean faltered a little, frowning as he remembered the arguments he and Cas had had in the early days of their relat-their _partnership_. “It doesn’t matter who wins, Dad. The War on Syphon just needs to end. Cas-“

“It _does_ matter who wins!” John Winchester shouted, standing from his throne. “Have you gone mad, Dean? Don’t you remember your mother? The dragons are monsters. They need to be exterminated.”

Dean remembered the glow of Castiel’s eyes when he’d been looking up at the heavens, the gentleness in his tone when he’d been soothing Dean after a nightmare. He remembered the warmth and sadness in the dragon’s voice when he’d spoken of his fallen brothers. He remembered the fear in Castiel’s eyes the night the villagers came for him, the laughter that rang through the cave when Dean told a particularly good joke, the warmth and affection in his eyes when Dean was coming down from a post-flight high and was feeling extra cuddly.

“They aren’t monsters,” Dean said quietly. “They’re just like us. Castiel is amazing. He feels emotions and… and love. Feels them just like any human.”

John’s face turned purple with rage. “ _THEY ARE NOT HUMAN_ ,” he exploded. His voice cracked psychotically on the last word. “ _THEY ARE BEASTS. MONSTERS. I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOU SPEAKING OF THAT WINGED WORM ANY LONGER!_ ”

It was just like old times. Dean would argue with John, John would get angry, Dean would be defiant, John would beat him. Only this time, things were definitely different. Dean wasn’t going to fucking back down just because John whipped him with his belt. Not this time. There was something off about John, too. Something on edge, more violent and volatile than before.

“He’s not a fucking winged worm, Dad, he’s Cas!” Dean shouted back. He didn’t even care that Sam and his friends were watching, that they may think he was insane. He was going to fucking defend Castiel. It was the least he could do, after all the dragon had sacrificed and given up for him.

“Dean,” Benny tried, always the peacemaker. “Dean, maybe-“

“No, Benny,” Dean bit out. He felt a little guilty for his harshness, but he was too busy being angry at his father to care. He glared at John, who was still practically exploding with rage. “You can’t just condemn a species you know nothing about! This war is pointless. It’s fought between two sides who each think the other is the monster. Well guess what? It’s never gonna end at this rate! We’ll all just keep dying and killing each other and destroying until there’s nothing left. Castiel knew that! He knew that even before I did! He fucking saved my ass, Dad! Where the hell were you?”

The hall went dead silent.

John was looking at Dean with an intensity that wasn’t even human. Again, Jo’s words about him not being the same came back to Dean. The prince wondered if John had changed more than he’d originally thought. Perhaps the weight of carrying the war had broken something in his father.

For the first time since he’d seen John again, Dean felt fear. He’d felt nearly invincible, even under the threat of John’s belt, but now, he wondered if John was going to do something more drastic.

That was answered in the next few seconds.

“That,” John said quietly, dangerously, “is treason. You’re committing treason, boy.”

“John-“ Bobby tried from behind Dean, his voice loaded with an anxiety that sent dread racing through Dean’s veins.

“Silence!” John practically screamed. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Dean, the tip shaking with how hard he was gripping it. “ _You_ are an abomination. A traitor. You’ve committed treason in the highest regard.”

“Dad, what-“ Dean tried, uncertain and afraid now.

“ _TREASON!_ ” John shouted, his voice echoing throughout the hall. He gave Dean a nasty smile. “You know what the punishment for _that_ is.”

Dean paled. “Dad, you wouldn’t.”

“Take it back, then,” John replied, voice broken and cracking. “Take back what you said. And promise that by the end of the summer, I’ll have that _Castiel’s_ horns hanging on my wall next to Azazel’s.”

Dean stared at his father in horror. “Dad, what are you-you’re _insane_.”

“ _Take it back!_ ” John screamed, face purple with rage. “ _Take it back, you fucking parasite, or I’ll burn you at the stake!_ ”

“Dad, I’m your _son_ ,” Dean said, at the same time as Sam’s cry.

“Dad, no! It’s _Dean_ , please Dad, you can’t burn him, _please_.”

At Sam’s panicked shout, Dean turned to find his friends and family staring at him with horror on their faces.

Suddenly, Dean realized that this wasn’t the first time this had happened. The punishment for treason _was_ burning someone at the stake. At least, a hundred years ago. That had been put out of practice for decades now. It seemed John wanted to bring back the tradition.

Dean turned around to face his father, rage boiling in his gut. He was fucking _tired_ of being told what to do and thrown around. Castiel had shown him he was more than that. Castiel had shown him he was more than a soldier. And he was going to stop being one, starting with his father. “I always knew you were an obsessed bastard, but this is too far,” Dean said, voice trembling with rage. “You’re insane. You can’t burn me, I’m your firstborn son!”

“You’re no son of mine,” John spat. “You’re a traitor. A spineless coward who rolled over after a few weeks of pressure, who turned to the dark side at the first sign of relief. You’re a _traitor!_ ”

“John!” Bobby shouted, coming forward. “This is too far. Please, John, think this through. This is _Dean_. He’s your son.”

“I said he was no son of mine!” John screamed at his friend. His eyes were wild, fixed on Dean with a manic kind of intensity. "Say you'll kill that dragon of yours, and I'll spare you. Say it."

Dean stared up at his father, jaw set and eyes narrowed. This, at least, was an easy decision. Serve his abusive, tyrannical, _insane_ father or protect his beautiful, gentle, amazing dragon? The choice was pathetically obvious. "Go fuck yourself," he snarled.

John's face purpled with rage. He sheathed his sword messily, pointing to two guards on the wall. “Chain the traitor. We’re having a public execution right now.” 

“NO!” Sam cried, at the same time as Jo and Benny.

“Don’t do this,” Bobby tried. “John, please-“

“Throw the rest of them in the dungeons,” John commanded. “They’re committing treason too.”

The guards obeyed without question. Dean had no doubt that John had slowly been making sure that only the most loyal to himself were still serving. There was no one who was coming to his aid.

Someone stepped up behind Dean, chaining his wrists roughly. “Dad, this is a mistake,” Sam cried. “Don’t do this!" Dean could hear the panic breaking in his deepening voice. It made him sad that his brother had to witness this.

Bobby and Benny and the others were all being chained as well. One of the guards started to lead Sam away, resorting to picking him up and carrying him when the young prince struggled. At least Sam was going to the dungeons, so he didn’t have to see Dean being burned. That was good. Probably the only good thing about this whole situation.

John didn’t even look at his firstborn as he strode past, hand trembling on the hilt of his sword. Soon after, Dean was being disarmed and kicked out the door after him.

What followed was a long walk through the city, where the citizens stopped and turned to stare. Word quickly spread that their newly returned Crown Prince was a traitor. Some looked at Dean, staggering exhaustedly behind the line of horses heading for the square, with disdain and disgust. Some looked at him with pity or confusion. Most just looked scared.

Dean didn’t blame them. He was scared too.

He managed to keep his head held high as they moved through the city, though the exhaustion was weighing on him. He'd traveled all night and all day to get here, and had had barely two hours to rest before seeing his father. The horses were going fast, too, making it hard to keep up. By the time they finally got to the square, Dean was ready to pass out.

The guards held him at the edge of a gathering crowd. One held a whip. Another, who joined them soon after, held a torch.

It seemed word of a public execution spread fast. There was already a stake and a whipping post lined up. Either that, or they'd already been there. Dean stared at the stake and blanched. He would rather be hanged than be burned, but there was really no better option if he chose to think about it.

_What the fuck just happened?_ his brain was asking. _What the fuck?_ Just an hour or so ago, he’d been wrapped up in hugs and crying friends, people he thought he’d never see again. He’d thought he was home.

Now, he was preparing himself to be burned to death.

Dean felt a sudden ache in his chest, a longing for Castiel. He wished the dragon were standing beside him. Even if Castiel wasn’t able to save him, Dean still wanted to be held by him, with his strong arms and warm wings. He missed Castiel. He wished he’d been able to apologize to him before he died.

What if Castiel thought Dean hated him forever?

Dean tensed as the whipping man yanked him forward, tugging him out into the middle of the square. The nervous, frightened murmurs died down as they got to the whipping post, the crowd falling silent.

“Dean Winchester is being executed for treason by affiliation with dragons,” the executioner shouted to the stunned crowd. “He will be whipped forty-five times, as requested by the king. Then he will be burned.”

Privately, Dean thought that was incredibly ironic. His crime was treason by affiliation with dragons. It made sense that he should be burned.

He avoided looking at the crowd, instead turning his eyes to the sky. It was a fantastic blue today. At least he was going to die under the open sky. That thought comforted Dean as they tore his shirt open and bared his back. It didn’t make the pain of the first whip-strike any less painful, but then again, there was really no way to do that.

_Open sky, open sky, open sky_. Dean imagined flying through the sky with Castiel, imagined sitting up and spreading his arms wide just to feel the tug of the wind on his body. He imagined the safety and security of the knowledge that the dragon would always catch him, that he and Castiel were one.

The pain in his back was building. Dean remembered the torture techniques Bobby had taught him when he was younger. He bit his lip and focused on that pain, his mind zeroing in on the sting of his teeth in the softness of his lip instead of the tearing of the skin on his back. He tried to focus on Castiel, too, on the warmth of his scales and the smell of wind and sunshine and rain that seemed to cling to him. Dean missed his dragon. He focused on that hurt, too.

The prince wondered if Castiel would ever come looking for him. He wondered if he'd remember Sam, if he'd remember Dean's stories . Maybe Castiel would burn the kingdom to the ground. Maybe he'd never come looking in the first place.

Maybe he really did hate Dean.

Dean had no idea which lash they were on. He hadn’t really been counting. He hoped they were nearly done.

His head bowed, his neck finally giving out. It was impossible to keep his chin up for any longer. He sagged against his bonds, allowing the whipping post to support all his weight. The whip seemed to bite harder, drawing pained whimpers, unbidden, from his throat. Dean bit down hard on his lip, the taste of blood flooding his mouth as his teeth finally pierced the soft skin.

The sweet-sour taste set something off in his head. Before he knew it, his body was convulsing, his back splitting open as his sides heaved. He vomited everything he’d recently eaten all over the cobblestones in front of him. The guard behind him laughed cruelly.

_No, no, no, no_. The pain was building to a screaming crescendo in his head. Dean tried to fight it down, panic rushing through him as he felt the agony starting to crowd in, starting to fray the edges of his sanity. _Fucking focus! Think of Castiel_.

Right. Castiel. Castiel and his sweet smile, his blue eyes, his handsome face. The incredible power of his body, both human and dragon. The beauty of his wings, blue-tinged at the edges, melting to midnight black near the middle. The grace of his wingbeats, the way he seemed to move through the air like a ribbon through water. Dean focused on the rumbling quality of Castiel’s voice. He focused on the gentility of the dragon’s hands, the affectionate warmth of his voice when he was teasing Dean. The way his nose scrunched when he laughed, the perfect white of his teeth.

Dean sobbed. He missed Cas. His back fucking _hurt_ , and weren’t they fucking done yet? He was tired of all this pain. He just wanted to get it over with. Couldn't they just kill him already? He wanted to die. The past year had been one of the best and worst of his life. He’d spent four months of hell with Alastair, and then eight of absolute heaven with Castiel. Now he was here, away from Castiel, alone, and hurting. He was done.

The whipping man seemed to hit even harder during the last few. Dean felt like his entire back was on fire. He was sure the whip had cut down to the bone. Blood and vomit mixed on the ground. Dean was sure, if he’d been hydrated enough, he would have pissed himself too. The pain was incredible. Sweat and tears he couldn’t afford to lose were dripping down his face.

The man finished suddenly, allowing Dean to sag against the wood of the pole. He threw the whip aside and unchained Dean’s wrists from the whipping post. All the strength drained from Dean’s muscles. He fell face-first into his own puddle of vomit, his body screaming in pain at the impact on the stone. Someone was laughing.

The man dragged Dean up by his arm, prompting a scream of agony to fly from the prince’s lips. He spat out dirt and bile, shaking his head sluggishly in an attempt to get his face clean. His head was pounding like an anvil.

The seventy-five foot walk to the stake was agonizing. Dean barely made it. If he’d had more in his stomach, he was sure he would have vomited it again. The only thing that kept him from collapsing and giving up right then and there was the promise of death. Soon, everything would be painless and good again.

The man tied Dean tightly to the stake. The ropes chafed against Dean’s chest and torso, binding him cruelly to the rough wood behind him. It was agony on his back. Dean was beginning to wonder just how much pain he could actually handle before he passed out. He wasn’t entirely sure he was fully conscious, anyway. His vision was spotting out. It seemed that every few seconds, the ropes would be in a new place. Dean was losing time, losing light.

He blinked slowly at the man with the torch. He was new, replacing the man from before. This guy wasn’t laughing at him like the man with the whip had. He looked sad, for some reason. Why was that? Dean thought he knew him. His name had been Liam, Dean thought. He’d been a young guard when Dean had first killed Azazel.

The courtyard was quiet. Dean couldn’t hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears.

“Kill him!” someone shouted. It might have been his father. Dean didn’t know anymore.

The man with the torch, Liam, swallowed thickly. His face was twisted with sadness and disdain, most likely for what he was about to do. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that Dean was a hero to these young men. That he was a legend among his people.

Now, he was a filthy traitor bound to a stake, back split open by a whip and his own vomit, snot, and tears covering his face.

There was a great shifting in the crowd in the corner of Dean's eye. He wondered why they were so desperate to kill him. Was he really worth so little to them? The ringing in his ears got louder and louder, until Dean realized that it wasn't ringing at all.

It was _screaming_.

Liam had jerked with surprise, turning to face the enormous mass of humans as they all seemed to collectively panic. It was confusing, twisting Dean's foggy, pain-addled mind. The prince listened on instinct. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the shouts and screams of the crowd begin to take shape, forming the one word he never thought he’d hear again. 

“ _Dragon!_ ”

Dean saw the horror dawn on Liam’s face in slow motion. He was no longer looking at Dean, his eyes on something above and behind Dean now. He dropped the torch, taking a step back. Naked fear like Dean had never seen before twisted the young man’s face.

A roar shook the cobblestones.

Distantly, Dean realized he recognized that roar. He knew the vibrations of it, the deep-throated rage that coated every syllable.

_Castiel_.

The crowd was panicking now, screaming and trying to run, creating a massive buildup at the exits to the square. Among them all, John Winchester stood, staring at the sky with pure awe and fear on his face. As the crowd parted, desperate to get away, he stood alone across from Dean, eyes on whatever was coming toward them.

An enormous shadow swept over the courtyard. Dean found the strength to raise his head enough to witness the enormous black dragon bombing overhead, moving so fast that the plants and pots in the courtyard and surrounding streets were knocked over. Clothes were ripped from their clotheslines. Market stalls crashed over.

Dean stared, along with most of the crowd, as the dragon arced upward and came spiraling back down.

Castiel landed with a thundering crack that seemed to shake the very bones of the kingdom.

Dean flinched as the dragon dug his claws into the stone of the courtyard, slicing through the thick, old rock like it was butter. The prince couldn't see him, since the dragon was behind the stake, but he could practically _feel_ his rage. Dean imagined that Castiel's eyes were glowing white hot, like the heart of a forge or the center of the sun. The heat coming off of the dragon's scales was intense. It made the air ripple at the edges of Dean's vision.

Castiel stepped right up to the stake, the top of the wooden post coming to rest just underneath his chin. Dean heard as he inhaled deeply, oxygen-intake slits wide open. This close to his chest, the prince could hear the sparking of the inferno deep within the dragon's chest.

With a guttural roar that shook Dean's very bones, Castiel flared his wings and released hellfire from his throat.

Dean ducked his head, weakness and fear leading his muscles to give out. He sagged against the wooden post, agony spearing through him like a distant memory. All of Dean’s physical feelings — the pain, the fear, the confusion, the hurt — melted away underneath the intense heat of Castiel’s fire.

The dragon’s chest was mere feet behind the post Dean was bound to. His claws dug into the earth on either side of the stake, his wings creating a shield around Dean’s body. His tail was lashing behind him, creating enormous gouges in the stone with the force of its passing. Above Dean, heat like a thousand suns passed from the mouth of the dragon. It seemed to be endless, growing hotter and hotter the more enraged the dragon became. Castiel was burning the plaza down.

The vibrations of his roaring were tunneling into the ground, reaching Dean’s bones. Instead of scaring or harming him, it reassured the human. Castiel was _here_. There was no denying it. The dragon had come to be with Dean. He’d come to save him.

Dean felt the last vestiges of strength draining from his muscles. Even the heat of Castiel’s fire seemed dulled in comparison to the blackness tugging at the edges of his vision. As he collapsed into unconsciousness, his broken body sagging against the rough wood of the stake, his mind rang true with one single message:

_Safe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CASTIEL IS A FREAKING BADASS, AND NO ONE CAN CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. God DAMN.
> 
> Once again, a HUGE thank you to Phantom31615. Give them some love in the comments, their art is awesome. ;) Thank you to both Confused_SPN_Fan and Phantom31615 for the art. You guys spoil me.
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter. Can you guys tell I hate John Winchester? Maybe just a little? Yeah, that man pisses me off like no other.
> 
> I hope none of that seemed too rushed. I wrote and rewrote the argument scene, hoping I could get across how 'off his rocker' John was. That man needs some help. Too bad he might not last long enough to receive it...
> 
> Anyway, tell me what you think. ;) Thank you all for reading, you are endlessly amazing. See you on Sunday!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does a little dance* Okay, my friends! This is, without a doubt, my favorite chapter. ;) Sorry for the cliffhanger on the last one. Actually, no, I'm not sorry. I might just keep doing that. :)
> 
> Once again, we have been blessed with some FANTASTIC fanart by the amazing Phantom31615. This one is incredible, my friends. Phantom did an amazing job. Seriously, they got EVERYTHING. The glowing eyes, the wings shielding Dean, the snarling, the fire... It's absolutely incredible. Thank you again, Phantom! ;)
> 
> Alright, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Eighteen**

Castiel was rage incarnated. 

His fury was a living thing in his chest, arching and roiling like the fire bursting from his throat. The air in around his body rippled with heat. He couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but _burn it to the ground_. 

How _dare_ they hurt Dean? How dare they _take_ what was his, take it and abuse it? How dare they attempt to steal the beautiful, glittering light out of Dean’s green eyes? How _dare_ they take Castiel’s human, his treasure? Dean was _his_. And he was tired of pretending otherwise. 

Castiel couldn’t even see what he was burning, couldn’t comprehend anything past the instincts of _kill, slaughter, burn, protect_. Of all of those, the last was the most important. 

Castiel was only dimly aware of the human bound to the stake underneath him. His claws were dug into the ground, wings flared in a display of intense fury and killer possessiveness. Castiel would not allow anyone else to harm Dean. Dean was _his_. If Alastair himself had landed in that courtyard, Castiel would have killed him too. 

The black dragon was screaming his rage into the sky, burning paths of absolute destruction through the human city. It wasn’t too bad, if Castiel thought about it, and the only humans he could see in the path of fire were John Winchester and the two men who had tried to hurt Dean. The only reason he wasn’t razing this city to the ground completely was because it was home to Dean’s people, and he didn’t think the prince would take kindly to the idea of his kingdom being burned down. If Dean ended up being killed or even permanently harmed, though, Castiel wasn’t so sure he would be able to control himself. The thought of his human being taken from him made his snout crinkle with rage. 

He could feel his enormous burst of fire finally coming to an end. If he’d wanted to, he could have inhaled and sparked the fire again, but he stopped when he reached the end of his breath. There were now four paths of destruction and fire running through the city. Castiel guessed they were about half a mile long, starting at the stone plaza. John Winchester and the men who had tried to hurt Dean were mere ashes in the wind. Castiel had done his duty. Now he needed to get Dean safe. 

He didn’t pay any mind to the screaming humans all around him. His thoughts were only on the unconscious prince tied to the stake in front of him, the blood that was beginning to stain the wood beneath him. 

With infinite care and precision, Castiel sliced through the ropes holding Dean to the stake. He held the prince as gently and loosely as he dared as he opened his wings again, intent on getting to the castle this time. He knew that would be the best place to find food and medical supplies. He needed to tend Dean’s wounds immediately. 

He pounded his wings hard, not caring that the battering of the wind forced some humans to take cover. They could all burn in hell, for all Castiel cared right now. The dragon rose high into the air and turned as fast as he dared, trying to make the ride as smooth as possible. 

The dragon flew hard for the castle, wings pounding like a drumbeat of death in the air. He was already shifting as he landed in the courtyard, Dean’s body moving from one of his claws to being cradled in his arms as his form shifted from dragon to human. 

The guards standing in the courtyard stared at him in shock and naked fear. 

“Get me the best healer you have,” Castiel ordered. His voice was rumbling and so deep it was nearly inhuman. “If you try to stop me or harm the prince, I will burn this whole city to the ground.” 

He flared his wings to show he wasn’t fucking around, too desperate to save Dean to try to be nice. The obvious display of dominance had many of the guards scrambling, some of them sprinting into the castle. Castiel hurried through the large double doors, wondering where he could find the items he needed to care for a wounded human. 

He was standing in the middle of a large hall when two guards returned, leading a dark-skinned woman wearing a tan and white uniform. 

To her credit, she only stared at Castiel’s wings for a little bit. Then her eyes slid to Dean’s trembling body, and she squared her shoulders. “My name is Missouri Moseley. I’m the Head Nurse here. Follow me.” 

Castiel followed her without question. She smelled afraid and shocked, but not malicious in any way. He found himself trusting her despite not knowing much about her. He could always overpower her if need be, anyway. That was the case with many of these humans. With how hyped he was on anger and possessiveness hormones, not even a silver net would be able to stop him from killing everyone in this castle if it came to it. 

As they hurried through the castle, they were joined by a large blond man. Castiel snarled viciously at him as he got too close, prompting him to stumble in his attempt to get away. 

“Easy, blue-eyes. My name’s Benny, I’m a friend of Dean’s. I’m also a battlefield medicine specialist,” the man said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I just want to help.” 

Castiel bared his teeth threateningly, arms tightening around Dean. It was only when he remembered the warmth of Dean’s blood soaking through his own shirt that he relented, knowing that Dean needed all the help he could get. 

“Fine. Where are we going?” Castiel growled, voice still inhuman and rumbling threateningly. He gave ‘Benny’ a last, warning glare, then turned to look at where they were headed. 

Missouri was leading them purposefully through the halls, past flocks of shocked, terrified servants and maids. “We’re going to the infirmary. It’s at the end of the hall,” she explained, voice tense and frightened. Her pace increased slightly as a large door came into view. 

Benny followed from a respectful distance away, which Castiel could at least slightly appreciate. He still snarled threateningly at the man when they got to the infirmary though, a last warning of what was to come if Dean was harmed. Benny gave Castiel a nod, like he understood. 

The infirmary ended up being a large room with many rows of beds. Missouri led them to the farthest one from the door, gesturing for Castiel to lay Dean down there. “We’re going to need to touch him, now,” she warned. “You can’t try to kill us if it hurts him.” 

“You _will not hurt him_ ,” Castiel snarled, wings flaring threateningly. He could feel his eyes heat instinctively, the urge to shift tugging at him. 

“We won’t, brother,” Benny murmured soothingly. “Not any more than we have to. But sometimes it has to hurt before it can get better. He might need stitches.” 

Castiel gritted his teeth, forcing his protective instincts down. He was doing Dean more harm than good by prolonging this right now. He needed to trust these humans. They would know how to help Dean better than he would. And from the worry and pain in their eyes, it looked like they cared about the prince. 

It was that last fact that had Castiel taking a reluctant step back, wings flaring threateningly. “Fine. But I will stay here. If either of you makes a move to harm him intentionally, I will not hesitate to slaughter you where you stand.” 

Missouri and Benny nodded. “You have our word, dragon. We won’t harm him any more than we need,” Missouri said gravely. She waited for Castiel’s reluctant nod of acceptance, and then she turned to Benny and began to immediately order him to do things. 

Castiel ended up taking another step back, allowing them both the space they needed to flip Dean over. They cleaned his wounds and began to assess the damage, voices low and urgent. Castiel waited and watched, the blood drying his own shirt to a tacky mess, his wings twitching with impatience every so often. 

At some point, a young female guard with blond hair and a firm voice told them that there were guards being posted outside of the infirmary. For some reason, Castiel was positive the guards weren’t to protect Dean _from_ him, but rather him and Dean both. It was a comforting thought. The female guard stared with wide, fearful eyes at Castiel’s wings, which, if the dragon was being honest, was becoming annoying. He was a dragon, could these humans get over that now? 

Castiel huffed and looked back at where Missouri was trying to dig splinters out of Dean’s back. It looked awful. The lashes had torn the skin of Dean’s torso into strips. Castiel bared his teeth at the sight of it. Gods, what had that fucking bastard of a human _used?_ An ox whip? It looked like it. Dean’s skin was absolutely flayed. It had a growl rising in Castiel’s chest before he could stop it, making Missouri fumble her tool and the blond guard jerk back. 

The growl intensified when Dean whimpered in pain, twitching as his body tried to rouse itself. 

“He’s waking up,” Benny said, rather unnecessarily. 

Missouri gave a soft curse. “We need the sleeping drug. Jo, go get it!” She must have been talking to the blond guard, because she was the one who scurried away to go grab something from one of the long cabinets along the wall. 

Dean cried out in pain, the sound grating on something deep in Castiel’s chest. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarled, causing all three humans to flinch. He eyed the horrific-looking metal tools the nurse was holding, his eyes heating unbearably. He knew they were glowing threateningly. In dragon form, smoke would have been pouring out of his mouth. “You’re _torturing_ him.” 

“I have to extract the splinters,” Missouri explained. It was evident that she was trying to be calm, though her firm voice wavered. “It has to be done, dragon.” 

Castiel opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of that. He was interrupted, though, when Dean’s head tossed to the side and the prince opened bleary green eyes. “Cas?” he choked. “Ca-C-Cas! Cas, please, _please_ -” 

“Jo, where’s that sleeping drug?” Missouri shouted over her shoulder. 

“Hey, _cher_ , it’s alright,” Benny soothed, trying to steady Dean as the prince made an aborted attempt to shove himself to a sitting position. It was awkward when he was laying on his stomach. The movement caused Dean to scream in pain and fall back to the bed. 

“ _Cas_ -” 

“You need to calm down, Dean,” Missouri said, voice low and firm, a wavering line of panic flickering through her words. “Jo, where is that damned-” 

“-Cas, _please_ -” 

“-need that sleeping drug, _now_ -” 

“- _Cas_ -” 

“-hurting himself, gods damn it-” 

“Ca-as…” 

“Shh, sweetheart,” Castiel soothed, practically shoving Benny out of the way. “You’re alright. I’m here. I’m right here, treasure. You’re safe.” He knelt next to the bed, his face level with Dean’s glazed green eyes. Something like recognition flickered in Dean’s gaze. He made an aborted movement with his left arm, his fingers twitching. 

Castiel reached up and tangled his long, cool fingers with Dean’s hot, sweaty ones. The human squeezed painfully tight. “Cas?” The question was whispered, wavering and scared. It was evident that Dean was terrified. Castiel’s heart broke. 

“Shh. I’m here,” Castiel soothed gently, squeezing Dean’s hand as tightly as he dared. “Calm down, my treasure. It’s okay. No one will hurt you anymore.” 

Dean’s eyes squeezed shut, his mouth twisting in a pained grimace. He shook his head shakily. “H-Hurts, Cas,” he whispered, voice breaking. He seemed to have calmed somewhat. He sounded less panicked and more in control, now that Castiel was there. 

Castiel’s other hand rose to stroke through Dean’s sweaty hair soothingly. The prince moaned softly and pressed into the touch. Castiel gave him a sad smile. “I know it hurts, sweetheart. It’s okay. Your friends are going to make you feel better. Shh, I know. Don’t cry, my treasure.” He rested his palm on Dean’s overheated forehead, reflecting internally that it was _way_ too hot. He was aware that he was being stared at by the three humans still in the room. He could see the blond guard, Jo, watching the exchange with wide eyes, her hands over her mouth. 

“Cas?” Dean whispered. 

Missouri seemed to come back to life first. She stepped forward and stuck something into the prince’s arm, prompting a little jerk to go through Dean’s body. Other than that involuntary reaction, he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were fixed wholly on Castiel’s face. The dragon gave him as reassuring of a smile as he could manage, forcing himself to act like nothing was wrong. “Yes, Dean?” 

Dean squeezed his hand, his grip loosening as his strength faded. “Don’t… Do-Don’t… leave.” His words were slurring heavily now. Castiel’s heart clenched in his chest. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Dean’s forehead instinctively. 

“I won’t, my treasure. I promise.” 

That seemed to be good enough for Dean. He relaxed into the bed, finally. His green eyes fluttered shut, his shaky breathing evening out somewhat. For a moment, there was only silence. 

Castiel looked up to find Missouri, Jo, and Benny all staring at him with wide eyes. The dragon covered the uncomfortable shift of his wings by flaring them aggressively. “Well? He’s still bleeding!” he growled, as loudly as he dared. He didn’t want to wake Dean. 

That was true. Dean _was_ still bleeding. It seemed to spur the humans out of their stupor and into action. Missouri began giving orders again, her hands moving deftly and surely over Dean’s back. Benny moved to fill the space Castiel vacated as he stepped away from the unconscious prince. Even asleep, Dean released Castiel’s hand reluctantly. 

The dragon stepped back, feeling a little detached. There was something about seeing Dean bleeding and begging for him that made him simultaneously want to go kill something and start sobbing. 

“He’s strong,” Jo said quietly. Castiel tensed. He hadn’t sensed her getting close, and he wasn’t sure he could trust her. She didn’t seem to be too much of a threat, once he assessed her. Her dark eyes were fixed on Dean, her pretty face twisted in a worried expression. “He’ll make it.” 

Castiel said nothing. He couldn’t confirm nor deny what she’d said. He couldn’t tell the future. 

“His fever is getting high,” Missouri said. “I need ice, now.” 

Jo turned and hurried over to a large metal trapdoor near the cabinets on the far wall. Castiel watched as she opened the trapdoor and yanked up a bucket of ice. He reflected, distantly, that keeping the ice trapped in an insulated, buried compartment was genius. 

Castiel watched as Missouri and Benny quickly began pressing ice into the areas of Dean’s body that would trap the most heat. The prince began to shiver almost immediately. Castiel had to restrain the urge to growl again. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Missouri said gravely. “We need to get fluids in him as fast as possible.” 

Benny grunted an agreement. He tied off the thick bandages that the two healers had wrapped around Dean’s torso. Jo, who looked pale at the amount of blood on the sheets, was trembling lightly. 

Castiel stepped forward, brushing past her. “What does he need and where is it?” 

Missouri didn’t even glance twice at him as she dumped a bunch of bloody rags into the now-empty ice bucket. “He needs water and iron. The water is in the cabinets. Benny will get the antibiotics and mineral shots.” 

Castiel nodded. He hurried toward the cabinets he’d seen Jo duck into, ripping the doors open in an attempt to find water as quickly as possible. It came in the form of little glass jars. He grabbed two and ducked out from underneath the cabinets, hurrying back to Dean as fast as he could. 

Missouri took the glass jar from him when he came back. Castiel put the extra one on the nightstand, then helped her turn Dean over onto his back. The prince gave a soft whine of pain when his body weight rested on his injuries. Castiel found himself shushing the human without really meaning to. He soothed a hand along Dean’s hairline, a well-practiced gesture that had been tried and tested during many nights of sleep interrupted by nightmares. Predictably, Dean settled. 

Missouri carefully began to feed Dean water, tilting his head so that the water came slowly. It seemed that for now, Castiel wasn’t needed. He took a small step back, coming to a stop beside Benny and Jo. Jo had an arm around Benny’s shoulders. It seemed to be a purely comforting gesture. Benny was covered in blood, his hands trembling lightly. 

“What happened?” Jo asked, turning to look at Castiel. “We were being held in the dungeon. What… the servants are talking about a dragon burning down the city. Was that you?” 

Castiel curled his lip with disdain. “I didn’t burn down the entire city. I burned a small strip of it to set an example of what would happen to the rest, should anyone continue to hurt Dean,” he said flatly. “I also killed your king.” 

“You killed John?” Benny asked, turning to stare at Castiel incredulously. 

“My apologies. He was in the middle of burning his son at the stake,” Castiel replied, deadpan. 

“I’m not mourning his death. It’s just… That’s gonna make everything real messy,” Benny said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Bobby will take care of it,” Jo said. “He always does. And he’ll make sure no one gets the dragon, either.” 

“I’m assuming you’re Castiel, then,” Missouri said over her shoulder. She was still trying to feed Dean water, her hands gentle on the prince’s neck. 

“I am,” Castiel replied, frowning a little. “What did Dean tell you?” 

“That you saved him,” Benny said. “That you want to end this war, and that you’re willing to work with us to do so. Is that true?” 

Castiel eyed the blond man for a moment, then nodded. “I am. I’m tired of the bloodshed.” 

“Why Dean?” Jo asked, stepping forward a little so she could see Castiel around Benny. “Why him, of all humans?” 

“He is the Dragon-Slayer, the Righteous Man,” Castiel replied. “He is a legend among dragons. He felled the two eldest Princes of Hell. He will kill the last one too.” 

“You want him to kill Alastair?” Benny asked. At Castiel’s nod, he looked back at Dean. The young man looked small and pale in his hospital bed. There was a brief period of silence in which they all regarded Dean, listened to his shallow, pained breathing. 

“If there’s anyone who can save us all, it’s Dean,” Jo said quietly. 

Castiel could do nothing but nod. 

Hours later, Castiel sat beside Dean, a statue of perfect peace. Dean had been moved to a different bed after the first one had been ruined by bloodstains. The young human was now wearing clean, soft clothes. His bandages were still white and clear of blood, which was a good sign. Castiel rubbed the knuckles of Dean’s hand with his thumb, the movement unconscious and more instinct than thought. 

Castiel had met Bobby Singer, the advisor to the king, only hours before. The man had been surprisingly calm, even in the face of a dragon. He’d promised that he’d take care of the citizens of Lawrence, and that he’d explain the situation. For now, he held the reins of the kingdom. 

Castiel had stayed hidden in the infirmary after that. He was content sitting beside Dean and watching over him as he slept. Besides, the castle was in an uproar after the events of the day. Castiel wasn’t keen on getting into the middle of that, especially since he’d started noticing the particularly annoying habit humans seemed to have of just _staring_ at him. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t an exhibit in a zoo, for the gods’ sakes. 

Castiel shook his head to himself, looking down at Dean. The young man was sleeping soundly for the first time in a while, his body still and soft against the sheets. His hand was loose in Castiel’s, warm and comfortable. His fever had gone down sometime earlier. Missouri had warned that it could return, but she was optimistic. Dean was a healthy young human. He would pull through. 

Castiel was profoundly grateful. He’d spent the past few hours praying, thanking the gods profusely for their grace and benevolence. They’d ensured Dean’s survival today. If Castiel had been even minutes later, Dean would be dead. 

The idea of the precious human beside Castiel being burned to a crisp made him angry. He still had yet to get rid of the churning anger deep in his gut. It had settled in the face of worrying for Dean and being grateful for his health, but it was still there. It reminded Castiel of the way the man had laughed when Dean had collapsed, of the little sobs of pain the prince had been emitting as he’d been whipped mercilessly. 

Castiel took a deep breath. He needed to focus on other things. Getting worked up right now wouldn’t do anyone any good. His wings ruffled as he brought them in, adjusting themselves. Castiel focused on the warmth of Dean’s hand in his, the steady breathing he could just barely hear. Dean was here. He was safe. Alive. He and Castiel were together now, and Castiel was never going to let him go. 

Not ever again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I need to gush about the fanart again. I have some MORE, because Phantom is amazing, but I have a better chapter to put that in later (this one totally fit). Seriously, though. The FIRE and the DRAGON- God, I'm drooling. It's amazing. ;)
> 
> Also, if you found any places where there was a word *a SPACE* an italicized word *and then another fucking space*, please tell me. My computer is super annoying with the formatting, and for some reason, it's been doing that with italicized words lately.
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter! I personally am a fan of protective!Cas, so I really enjoyed this one. Believe it or not, this story was only supposed to be twenty chapters long, but because of this one, I made it twenty-five, if only so I could cram in more fluff and healing. The good stuff. ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'll see you all on Thursday for the next one. Love you!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dearest friends! (Seriously, you guys are my only friends.) How are you all doing today?
> 
> I have a great, fluffy new chapter for you. It comes with a side of important revelations, too. ;) I think it'll be enjoyable. I sure fucking hope so, at least.
> 
> Once again, a massive thank you to the beautiful, wonderful, thoughtful people who comment on my chapters. You guys make my day every damn time. Seriously, it's fucking incredible what one person, twenty or so words, and a comment box can do to change my entire mood. Thank you. *insert heart emoji, because I'm on a computer and I can't do that*
> 
> Alright, here's the chapter. ;)

**Nineteen**

Dean was warm.

In the back of his mind, he knew that was wrong. He didn’t know _why_ , of course. Just that he shouldn’t feel so warm and sleepy and comfortable. As his brain slowly came back to awareness, he began to remember.

The whipping post. The stake. The screaming. Castiel.

_Castiel_.

Dean fought to open his eyes. They were heavy, making it a struggle to do more than blink a few times. In the flashes he caught of his surroundings, he realized that he was in the infirmary. After a few more minutes, in which his body had the chance to wake fully, Dean managed to open his eyes.

They promptly widened in shock.

He was in the infirmary, yes. His torso had been bound with soft white bandages. And laying beside him was a sleeping dragon.

Castiel was pressed up against Dean’s right side on the bed in human form, his arms and wings curled protectively around the prince’s entire body. He was sleeping soundly, chin resting on Dean’s right shoulder. His body was a warm, firm line against Dean’s. His wings were heavy, like a thick blanket. They made a cocoon of warmth, a little bubble of safety and comfort.

“He’s been like that for almost two hours now,” a familiar voice said. Dean turned to his left to find Benny sitting next to him, his blue eyes on the sleeping dragon. “Was like a savage animal, tryin’ to protect you when you first came in. Nearly took my head off when I got too close.” Benny’s eyes lifted from Castiel’s face to Dean’s. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Dean gave a broken, raspy laugh. He cleared his throat, trying to make it seem less grating, but all that did was send waves of pain through his entire head. “Ow.”

“Here, _cher_ ,” Benny said, handing Dean a glass of water. Dean’s hand shook as he raised it to his mouth, but he managed to get it there. He thanked the gods for the inclined infirmary beds.

When Dean had finished half the jar, he spoke again. “What happened? What time is it?”

Benny winced. “Well, it’s the morning after that whole clusterfuck. I’m fairly sure you remember everything up until Castiel appeared?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, frowning as he recalled. “He… He burned down the city.”

“Nah, not the entire thing. Just a small strip of it,” Benny said, waving his hand. He seemed to hesitate before he spoke next, though. “Well, he… He did roast your father. And the two guys who were gonna burn you. He also killed fourteen chickens and a coupla cows, but that’s not as important.”

Dean stared at Benny. “He killed my father?”

“Wasn’t your father, really, if he was gonna burn you,” Benny muttered, looking away. He immediately winced, turning to look back at Dean apologetically. “Sorry.”

Dean shook his head. “You shouldn’t be. He… Gods, I can’t believe it.” He blinked at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what had happened yesterday.

“To be fair, Dean, your father had been acting strangely for quite a while,” Benny said. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bobby thought it was losing you that set him off, but I think it was bound to happen anyway. There’s only so long a man can be driven to exterminate one thing before he becomes the very thing he seeks to destroy.”

Dean gave his friend a small smile, despite the storm whirling in his head. He’d missed Benny’s wise words. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. Has he… Has he burned anyone else? I didn’t even realize we still _had_ a stake.”

Benny sighed. “No, but it was put up as a threat. I suppose your return and your claim that dragons were the good guys really twisted his melon. He couldn’t handle it. I’m really sorry he tried to kill you, and that he hurt you so bad.”

Dean snorted. “It’s not the first time, Benny. Well, at least not the first time he’s beaten me.” Dean’s words stuck in his throat, hard to admit even after all this time and all that had happened. “He’s… uh, he’s kinda always done that.”

“What?” Benny demanded, sitting up in his chair. “What do you mean?”

Dean swallowed thickly, pressing into Castiel instinctively. The firm, unyielding line of the dragon’s body gave Dean the courage he needed to speak. “Da-uh, I mean _John_ … John used to hit me with his belt? Like, all the time? That was… That was just the first time it was public, I guess. And… Well, they were using an ox whip, which was different, but-"

“He beat you with his _belt?_ How long has this been happening, Dean?” Benny demanded, standing suddenly. He looked irate. “That motherfucker. I’ll… I’ll kill him _again!_ I’ll dig up his ashes and burn them myself. I’ll-"

“You’ll kindly shut up, so that I don’t turn _you_ into ashes,” a grumpy, familiarly deep voice grumbled. Castiel buried his face into Dean’s shoulder. “Why are humans so _loud?_ ”

Dean’s lingering fear and discomfort disappeared. “Cas!”

The dragon groaned and peeled one startlingly blue eye open to glare at Dean and Benny. When his gaze landed on the hopeful expression on the prince’s face, however, his glare morphed into a look of fondness. “Hello, Dean.”

Benny snorted. “Now don’t you go snarling at me like you mean to intimidate me no more. I’ve seen the real you, you winged lizard. All soft and cuddly on the inside.”

Castiel bared his teeth in a truly frightening snarl, eyes seeming to glow as he glared at Benny. “I am _not_ soft and cuddly.”

Benny didn’t look fazed. His eyes flicked between the hold Castiel had on Dean and the dragon’s face. “Sure, brother. Whatever you say.”

Castiel didn’t seem to detect the sarcasm in Benny’s voice. He grumbled and lowered himself to lay next to Dean again, his chin on top of the prince’s head this time. It was an undeniably protective, possessive gesture, and it sent something warm and good through Dean’s stomach.

Benny raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“So… I’m guessing Bobby is running things, if the castle isn’t in flames,” Dean said.

Benny snorted, nodding. “Yeah. He’s doing just fine, but he wants you to take over as soon as possible. Says he’s already got enough gray hairs as it is.”

“Me?” Dean questioned, eyebrows rising. “Why me?”

Benny stared at him. “Maybe because you’re the Crown Prince? The next in line for the throne? Not to mention, Sam isn’t even able to drink yet.”

Dean jerked a little, which sent waves of agony down his spine. The painkiller Missouri must have given him couldn’t dull everything completely. He grunted in pain, trying to fight through the urge to vomit so he could ask, “Sammy? What about Sam, I-shit, I forgot, is he okay?”

“He’s fine, Dean,” Benny soothed. Castiel’s arms had tightened around Dean’s body. The dragon was rumbling gently in a way that was just _barely_ audible. “He’s happy and healthy. We’re keeping him out of here for now so you don’t kill yourself trying to do something you shouldn’t, and so that you can have a little rest. He’ll be in to see you later.”

Dean relaxed, relieved that his little brother was safe. “That’s good.” He reached a shaking hand up to swipe at his face, at the small amount of stubble that had grown there overnight. “Shit, I need a shower. And some food. And someone to explain exactly what the fuck is going on, in detail.” He glanced up at Castiel, who was watching him fondly. “We have a war to end.”

The next few hours were filled with a whirlwind of talking. Bobby and the ring of advisors came in to explain the political situation, which was shaky at best. The other countries were giving Lawrence time to ‘mourn’ their king, but they expected the kingdom to be back to helping with the war effort soon. Bobby also told Dean that the city was abuzz with the knowledge that there was a dragon in the castle. What Benny had said before was true. Castiel hadn’t killed anyone except the king, the whipping man, and the guy who Dean had seen right before he’d blacked out. Liam, or something. Still, Castiel had killed people, and he’d roasted a few homes and shops too. The public’s views of the new guest were mixed.

For the most part, though, the city wasn’t necessarily _angry_ with Castiel. They were definitely afraid of him. Some of them had apparently thought that he was holding Dean and Sam hostage, and they had congregated at the front gates the night before, armed with cannons and spears. Jo and Benny had received the exciting task of dispersing them.

The only real thing that Dean was interested in was the fact that Castiel’s roars had been heard for miles. Every dragon in range had heard the noise. Benny had reported some dragons hovering just at the edges of the catapults’ reach, observing the city. There was no doubt that word had gotten out to the Dragon King that a bluefire dragon had attacked Lawrence. Alastair’s arrival was imminent.

Surprisingly, that didn’t worry Dean too much. He was home now, in one of the best-guarded cities in the world. He was wounded, yes, but he had a dragon sleeping beside him, one that had already proven he would kill to protect him.

It was actually kind of endearing, the way Castiel snarled at every new person to enter the room. If Dean wasn’t so annoyed because he constantly had to apologize and try to calm the person down, he would have been touched by the protectiveness Castiel seemed to retain for him. The dragon hadn’t left his side — or his bed — since he’d woken.

The last person was just leaving, a foreign advisor who had spent the last half hour expressing his _deep_ concern for what the other kingdoms would think of Lawrence once word got out they were housing a dragon. Dean didn’t really think much of his argument, especially since he’d insulted Castiel in front of the dragon’s face several times.

As the door finally closed, Dean relaxed into the bed.

“You shouldn’t have done all that,” Castiel murmured. “You’re straining yourself. You need rest.”

There had been a warmth between them for the entirety of the day. That warmth seem slightly strained now, as Dean turned to look at the dragon. “I had to do all that, Cas. I need to prepare to lead my people.” The ‘ _since you killed my father_ ’ was left unsaid.

Castiel sat up, looking unfazed. “I realize that, but you cannot lead your people if you’re dead, which is what you’re working yourself toward. You need sleep.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the dragon, a little annoyed that he was being told what to do in his own castle. Castiel didn’t really belong here. He was the guest. And besides, the last Dean had heard, Castiel didn’t want anything to do with him.

Dean frowned. “Not to be a dick or anything, Cas, but why do you care?”

Castiel frowned as well, his face mirroring Dean’s. “What could you possibly mean by that?” he asked. “I hope you’re not questioning my devotion to you. T-To your health, I mean.”

Dean decided to let that little slip-up go. “I kind of am, Cas. Last you were telling me, you didn’t give a damn what happened to me _or_ my health.”

He expected Castiel to get angry, to rise to the bait like he’d done so many times in the past. Dean could sense the air of an approaching argument, and not the good kind, either. It was the kind of fight that left the walls of the cave ringing for minutes afterward. Or, Dean supposed, in this case it would be the infirmary instead of the cave.

Castiel surprised him, though. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Instead of getting angry, he looked away, ashamed. “I realize that I said that. I didn’t mean it, Dean. I know that means nothing to you, but it’s important for me to at least say it. You are-You have no idea… You have no idea how much you _and_ your health mean to me.”

Dean stared at the dragon for as long as he dared. The air in the infirmary was quiet and still. Castiel’s wings had retreated to his back, as per Dean’s request when Missouri had arrived that morning to give him breakfast. Dean saw them twitching now, as if they wanted to come out and wrap around him again. He swallowed. “Why’d you say all of it then, Cas? If I mean that much to you… Like, burn-down-the-city-and-kill-the-king much, then why’d you ever say it in the first place?”

Castiel sighed, looking down at the sheets on the bed. He’d placed himself on top of them, his left leg pressed against Dean’s right. There wasn’t that much space on the bed, but somehow, Dean hadn’t noticed. Maybe that was why all those ministers had been staring.

“I suppose I got scared,” Castiel said quietly. “Dragons… We’re supposed to hate your kind. We’re not supposed to want anything to do with you. We’re also not supposed to feel emotion, to want only to kill and fight.”

“That sounds like it sucks.”

Castiel chuckled wetly. “I suppose it does. I didn’t know that until I met you, though.”

Dean blinked, staring at the dragon. His tired brain was working in overdrive in an attempt to understand all this new information. His voice was quiet and insecure when he asked, “What do you mean, Cas?”

Castiel looked up, and Dean was shocked to see tears in his beautiful blue eyes. “I didn’t really realize it until yesterday. I saw you…” Castiel took a shaky breath. “I saw you being beaten, and I... I couldn't even _move_. I just panicked and... and stood on that rooftop and realized that I... that I..." The dragon exhaled shakily. "When I saw you tied to that stake, the torch being held before you, I… I thought you were going to die. I got so _angry_. I was ready to tear apart the world, Dean.” The young man in question was staring at Castiel, hardly daring to breathe. Castiel’s voice was getting shakier the longer he spoke. “I’ve never felt that kind of emotion before. I have never wanted to _destroy_ something so badly as I did your father when I saw him laughing at your pain. It scared me. And before, when I killed Ishim… That scared me too. The sheer magnitude of the things I would do to protect you are unimaginable.”

Dean swallowed, his throat dry. He felt faint, lighter than air. All the sound in the world seemed to fade away, everything zeroing in on the dragon sitting before him. “What are you saying, Cas?” he asked quietly.

“You changed me, Dean,” Castiel replied, the tears finally breaking. They slid down his face, leaving shiny tracks. Dean thought he saw faint steam rising in the air. “I love you.”

All the air left Dean’s lungs. 

The dragon in front of him held his gaze for only a second or two longer before he dropped his eyes to the sheets. Castiel wiped at his face, hissing a little as he did so. Dean remembered that dragon tears were basically acid, and he almost laughed, which would have been hugely inappropriate. As it was, he was mostly just too shocked to say anything.

He had no idea what to do.

On the one hand, Dean felt like jumping up and shouting. He couldn’t, of course. His back still throbbed faintly, even in the face of the massive dose of painkillers Missouri had given him a few hours ago. But the urge to get up and jump around was still there. Castiel’s words struck something _deep_ inside Dean. Something that he hadn’t really felt since Princess Lisa all those years ago. She’d been betrothed to another, and she had a son to prove it, but that didn’t stop Dean from falling hard and fast for her in the space of a summer spent together. It still kind of hurt, thinking of her.

But now, that was completely swallowed up by the magnitude of what Castiel had just told him.

“Cas, I-" Dean swallowed, trying to get the words to arrange the right way on his tongue.

“I know, Dean. It’s okay. You don’t have to return it. But please, don’t cut this off until after we’ve ended the war. There is too much at stake,” Castiel said. He looked pleadingly at Dean. “Please, Dean. I will not be able to live with myself, knowing that my feelings got in the way of-"

“Cas, _stop_ ,” Dean said firmly. He waved a hand, ignoring the sparks of pain the movement brought forth. “Just… Just listen.”

Castiel sucked in a shaky breath, nodding. “Okay.” He sat back a little, looking as if he was going to climb off the bed in an attempt to give Dean space. That was the last thing Dean wanted. If the dragon left the bed right now, he’d either climb out after him or start crying. Both were equally as horrifying.

“You gotta understand, I’m not good with feelings,” Dean began. He gave a dry little laugh. “Actually, I’m terrible. But you’re worth it, so I’ll try.” He swallowed, steadying himself. It was easier to look at the bedsheets than Castiel’s eyes, but Dean forced himself to meet the dragon’s gaze and hold it. He at least owed Castiel that much. “You’re… You’re-I… Shit, I’m bad at this. I can’t… I don’t know how to mean it and _say_ it. But I _do_. I… _Fuck_.”

“Dean, it’s okay,” Castiel tried.

“It’s _not_ okay. I just wanted to… Cas, I-I… I care for you too. That way. I care for you that way. I-gods, it fucking _killed_ me to leave you alone in that cave. I never wanted to hurt you or make you feel scared or insecure or whatever. And… And just for the record, humans aren’t supposed to like dragons either, but… Well.” Dean gave a wet, self-deprecating laugh. He shook his head, appalled at his own inability to communicate. 

“Dean, I understand,” Castiel said. He put a tentative hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m glad, I-gods, I was so scared you were going to be angry with me.”

Dean snorted. “Why would I be angry with you? You’re practically an angel from heaven and I’m… me. I’m shocked you’d even want to be friends with me.”

“You, Dean Winchester, are more precious than you could ever imagine,” Castiel said firmly. "My treasure." The endearment made Dean blush to the tips of his ears. The dragon gave him a gentle smile, then shook his head. “Besides, I’ve killed people. I’m no angel.”

Dean frowned, shaking his head as well. “That’s not true. You’ve given up so much for me Cas. Hell, you risked possible death by human-mob so you could save me from my murderous father.”

Castiel’s eyes hardened at the mention of John. “I would do it all again. If anyone hurts you Dean, I will destroy them.” Something steely had entered his eyes. It made Dean realize just how gentle and soft the dragon had been around him, and just how incredibly cold and terrifying he could be when he wanted to. Gods, everything seemed so far from those months in that cave where they'd hated each other.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said quietly. “I’d fucking destroy anyone for you too.”

The dragon laughed, the sound rough and joyous. Castiel’s laugh was beautiful. Like water attracting water, it drew Dean’s laugh out of him too. For a moment, he could only feel pure mirth and joy at his closeness to the dragon. Soon, though, that was dampened by the pain that began to throb from Dean’s back, his injuries reminding him that they were there. He broke off with a soft curse, hand twitching toward his back as if touching it would make the pain go away.

“Dean!” Castiel jerked forward, his hands hovering inches off Dean’s body as if he was afraid touching the prince would break him. “Are you alright?”

Dean groaned. He fisted his hands in the sheets and leaned back against the inclined mattress, panting lightly. “I’m good. Just got a little excited there.”

Castiel’s face darkened. “You should not be so worked up right now. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have encouraged the conversation for longer than it needed to be. You need rest,” he said, reaching forward to press Dean to the mattress when the human tried to sit up.

“Cas,” Dean tried.

“You need to sleep, Dean.”

“Cas.”

“What?”

Dean gave the dragon a sincere look, a small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t mind. It was worth it.”

The look Castiel gave him was so sappy, Dean would have punched him if he’d been anyone else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW HE DIDN'T SAY IT. I AM A W A R E.
> 
> Seriously though, I feel like the only reason- *SPOILER*
> 
> *Seriously, a huge fucking (wow, I'm saying fuck a lot this morning) spoiler if you haven't watched the end of SPN*
> 
> \- Dean didn't say 'I love you' back (Y YO A TÍ) is because he's an emotionally constipated idiot. Seriously, he's such a dumbass. He's also our dumbass. But he was probably standing there running through all the reasons he could be dreaming or the reasons he didn't deserve it. :( Our baby just does that sometimes.
> 
> We all know he loves Cas. He does.
> 
> It just might take a near-death experience or two to get him to say it out loud. ;)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEELLLLOOO, my friends! I hope you're all doing well this morning/afternoon/evening. I certainly am, for once. I recently went out and bought half-priced Valentine's Day chocolate and am now eating it, because I AM MY OWN VALENTINE. WOOOOOO, SINGLE PRINGLES!
> 
> Anyway, I have another chapter, complete with a surprise appearance by one of our favorites. ;) It's totally a filler chapter, but Dean needs to heal in a believable period of time and I like fluff, so here we are.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Twenty**

What Castiel had said before was true; Dean was precious. Because dragons didn’t need as much sleep as humans, Castiel was able to watch over the Dean as he slept. The level of adorableness and affection that Castiel regarded Dean with was a secret the dragon would take to his grave.

He couldn’t deny that there was something primally satisfying about literally wrapping himself around Dean. It made Castiel feel like he was keeping him safe from anything. While that wasn’t necessarily true, it was a nice, secure feeling. He’d nearly crawled out of his skin today, watching all those new humans come in and speak to Dean. Some of them had been heavily armed, as per their occupation. It had made Castiel want to tuck Dean away in his wings and roar at anyone that came too close.

Unnaturally protective — and possessive, if he was being honest — instincts aside, Castiel was proud of Dean. He’d obviously been exhausted, but he’d handled all of the concerned, wealthy-and-powerful-looking people with grace and poise. Castiel could tell that despite his own terrifying presence, the other humans were comforted and reassured by Dean’s confidence.

The dragon smiled and pulled Dean closer to his body, reveling in the way the human’s side fit against his front so well. When they were sleeping like this, Dean on his back and Castiel on his left side, the dragon’s wings and arms could curl tightly around the prince’s body like a pillow. Dean hadn’t complained yet, so Castiel had reason to believe he didn’t mind.

Sleeping, Dean actually looked his age. When he was awake, it was hard to remember he was only a little under a quarter of a century. He usually held himself with a maturity and poise that implied an age much greater than that. When he was asleep, however, the lines of his face smoothed out and he curled into himself, like a child. Like this, Castiel could get close and count every single freckle on Dean’s sunkissed face.

_I care for you too_ , Dean had said. Castiel smiled at the memory. He didn’t know what that revelation made them, what it meant for the future, but he was glad that it had been said. He was glad he’d taken the leap and just admitted his own feelings. Somewhere, down deep inside himself, he’d known that Dean wouldn’t turn his back even if he didn’t return the sentiment.

Still, it felt good to have it out. The past few days had instilled a sense of urgency in Castiel, though for what, he didn’t know. He had an urge to do _something_. It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that Alastair would likely arrive any day now. The Dragon King had no doubt heard of the bluefire dragon that had attacked Lawrence. While Castiel knew it was his fault that he was drawing their greatest enemy to them, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret what he’d done. If he went back, he’d save Dean a thousand times over.

Castiel watched over the prince until the early hours of the morning. The dragon dozed off a little around sunrise, mostly just to stay sharp. He wasn’t exactly _tired_ , but he wanted to be at the top of his game in the face of whatever was coming.

He must have actually dozed off, because when he woke next, sunlight was streaming through the windows and there was a young man sitting beside the bed.

Castiel rose and bared his teeth at the same time that the boy brandished a dagger at him. For a moment, they both stared at each other with equal levels of don’t-fuck-with-me on their faces. After a moment, the boy lowered the dagger. “At least if you’re protective, that means you won’t hurt him.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, barely suppressing the urge to snarl. The only reason he didn’t was because he knew he had to be quiet. He didn’t want to wake Dean, who looked like he was sleeping peacefully for the first time in a while. “Who are you?” he demanded, as loudly as he dared.

“Sam Winchester,” the boy replied, giving Castiel a nod. He sat back down in his chair, sheathing his dagger. “I’m Dean’s little brother.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Sammy?”

Sam blinked, surprised. “Yeah, I guess. Only Dean can call me that, though.”

“Of course,” Castiel conceded, his wings lowering from their aggressive stance behind his back. They remained defensive, but they were less volatile and probably looked less terrifying, if the relieved look on Sam’s face was any indication. “Dean told me about you. He only referred to you as ‘Sammy’.”

Sam snorted, looking fondly at his sleeping brother. “Of course he did.” He snorted, a small smile rising on his face. “I’ve met people who thought that was my proper name, and that I was only four feet tall. He tends to downplay the fact that I’m taller than him.”

“Actually, I know from experience that he outright denies it,” Castiel murmured, also looking at Dean. He was trying to compose himself, having just realized that with both of Dean’s parents dead, this was as close to ‘meeting the family’ as he was ever going to get.

“You talkin’ shit ‘bout me?” a sleepy, familiar voice slurred. Sam’s face brightened.

“Dean!”

Dean instantly became more awake. Castiel watched him hide his wince as he sat up, giving his little brother a wider smile than Castiel had ever seen on Dean’s face before noon. For a moment, the dragon had to fight back an intense surge of jealousy.

“Heya, Sammy. How are you?” Dean asked, making an aborted stretching movement. Castiel eyed the smiles that were being exchanged between the two brothers and realized how awkward he must seem. He tried to slide his leg over the edge of the bed in an attempt to at least give the two some space, but Dean’s hand shot out behind him and grabbed the dragon’s wrist.

“I’m good, Dean,” Sam said, in response to Dean’s earlier question. He eyed the grip Dean had on Castiel. “Uh… how are you?”

Dean gave him a wink. “I could tell a really dirty joke right now, but I have a feeling Grumpy here wouldn’t appreciate it.”

It took Castiel a second to realize that ‘Grumpy’ was him. He glared at Dean as Sam laughed. “I am _not_ grumpy.”

Dean gave him a warm smile to show he didn’t mean any harm, then turned and winked at Sam. “Don’t take it personally, Sammy. He doesn’t like to share.”

Castiel nearly fired back with a _no, I do not_ , but he refrained at last second. It would have been inappropriate for their current company, at the least. At the most, it might show how truly _unwilling to share_ he actually was.

Luckily, Sam seemed to have been born with the gift of Dean’s good humor as well. He gave Castiel an approving grin. “That’s good. Better that than the alternative.”

“Moving on now,” Dean muttered. He gave Castiel a side-glance, then turned back to his brother. “When’d they let you out of the dungeons?”

Sam shrugged. “I actually broke us out. We were just raiding the armory so we could get to you when the dragon came in. The guards came for Missouri. Soon after, everyone was shouting about Da-about John being dead.”

This close to Dean, Castiel could feel his muscles tense at the mention of his former father. “Gotcha. How’d you break out?’

“Called a guard over, complaining of a stomachache,” Sam replied flippantly, as if it was an everyday thing. “I bashed his head on the bars and stole his keys. He’s fine. Mild concussion, Missouri said.”

Dean reached out and gave Sam a thwack upside the head. He had a proud smile on his face. “That’s my Sammy. How’d he go down?”

Sam grinned. “Like a bag of bricks.”

They both laughed. Castiel found himself relaxing at the easy atmosphere between the two boys. He understood that Dean had been away for a year, and that he and his young brother were very close. It made sense that they wanted to catch up. Sam gave Dean a summary of what had happened at the castle while he’d been gone, and in return, Dean told him about his adventures since he’d killed Asmodeus and been kidnapped by Alastair.

“So you guys just started flying together?” Sam asked, when Dean finished with the part about Castiel saving him. “I thought you’d try to rip each other apart.”

“We did,” Dean muttered.

“You didn’t just start flying right away?” Sam asked, frowning.

“No,” Castiel replied, at the same time as Dean. The prince snorted, turning to Castiel to lead the conversation. The dragon shifted a little awkwardly. “I-we… We fought. I actually… I almost killed Dean.”

Sam, surprisingly, didn’t seem angry. He leaned forward a little, curious. “Really? How?”

“I carried him to my flight limit and dropped him. I let him fall for… longer than I should have,” Castiel said uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sam whistled. “Did he piss himself?”

Castiel stared at the young human. “What.” He was so surprised, he couldn't even voice it as a question.

“Did he piss himself? Dean’s _terrified_ of heights,” Sam said. He snorted. “He wouldn’t go out on top of the High Tower until he was like, fourteen.”

Castiel stared at the prince, absolutely floored. Dean shifted a little, obviously uncomfortable. “You didn’t have to tell him _that_ , Sammy,” he muttered.

Sam frowned. “Why not?”

Before Dean could answer, Castiel was putting a hand on his shoulder, forcing the green-eyed man to turn and look him in the eyes. “You’re afraid of heights?”

Dean winced. “Yeah. Don’t rub it in, alright? I know it’s irrational and stupid, but-“

“Dean, that’s… That’s _incredible_ ,” Castiel said quietly. “You’re incredible. You… You agreed to fly for the first time on _my_ terms, climbed on my — an _enemy's_ — back, and trusted me with your whole life, even if flying was your greatest fear?”

Dean swallowed nervously. “Well, when you put it like _that_ -"

“Dean, that’s pretty amazing,” Sam said. He was looking at Dean with faint awe too, now. “I thought Castiel had to, like, bribe you or something.”

Dean shrugged, looking enormously uncomfortable with all the attention. “Uh, no? I just… I figured… Look, it doesn’t-it doesn’t matter, alright? It happened. I almost died. We flew again. We’re good.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, awe and wonder surging through him again as he regarded the amazing man before him. “Yes, we flew again. You trusted me _again_ to take you into the air. Without a saddle, without-“

“No _saddle?_ ” Sam interrupted, incredulous. “Dean, that’s like-I can’t even ride Charger without a saddle, and he’s a horse.”

Dean had started flushing deep red. It was up to his ears now. Distantly, Castiel realized it made his freckles stand out. “Riding a dragon is easier than riding a horse, Sammy.” Dean choked, panic flashing on his face as he turned to look at Castiel. “Not that-that riding a dragon is like riding a horse-it-it isn’t, not at all! I wasn’t saying that, I sw-“

“Dean, I understand,” Castiel replied soothingly. “I was just… _amazed_. You have to be one of the bravest humans I have ever met.”

Dean flushed an even deeper red. “Can’t’ve met many humans, then,” he muttered.

Sam leaned forward, speaking in a whisper voice. It took Castiel second to realize that the younger boy was addressing _him_ , not Dean. “He’s got terrible self-esteem, if you haven’t noticed. You and I have to be a united front on that one.”

Dean glared at his younger brother. “Shut the fuck up. Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam shot back, in a manner that suggested it was a well-practiced phrase. They both started laughing. Castiel very nearly laughed himself. He had no idea what a ‘jerk’ was, and he was wondering why Dean insisted on calling his brother a term that was usually reserved for female dogs, but he couldn’t help but be affected by the light air between the two brothers. Despite his confusion, though, he had a feeling he and Sam would get along just fine. From the pleased gleam to Dean’s green eyes, the prince thought so too.

Once the boys had calmed somewhat, Dean stretched a little. His movements were tentative and ginger, but he seemed to have a much wider range of motion than a few days ago. It was a good sign.

“Do you think Missouri will let me out to go for a ride with Baby?” Dean asked, turning to Castiel.

“Absolutely not,” Castiel replied.

The green-eyed man paused, waggling his eyebrows at the dragon. “Will _you_ let me out to go for a ride?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean. “I am not your keeper, Dean. Why do you ask?”

Dean grinned, eyeing Castiel’s wings. “Because I could think of several ways to escape Missouri anyway, and most of them involve that window there.”

Castiel snorted, eyeing the window. “As much as I would like to meet this fabled horse of yours, I cannot feasibly fly us down to the courtyard. Your guards may shoot me down out of principle. Besides, you are injured and I’m not sure my wings can support two full-grown humans.”

Dean gave him a frown that was really more of a pout. “That fucking blows.”

Sam nodded. “We can’t really sneak you down with Castiel anyway. His wings draw too much attention. Everyone will stare at us the second we step out of this infirmary.”

That, unfortunately, was very true. “He’s right,” Castiel conceded. He had to admit that the youngest Winchester seemed quite intelligent.

Dean groaned, flopping dramatically against the pillows. “If I don’t get out of this bed right the fuck now, I’ll die.”

There was a time, before Dean, when Castiel might have been very worried. Now, however, he just rolled his eyes. “You are incredibly overdramatic and childish,” the dragon told Dean.

The prince snorted. “Will that get me outside?”

“Dean Winchester, you have two more days of rest before you can get out of bed and you know it,” a new voice said sternly. Dean groaned, Sam turning completely around to face the door as Missouri came in. She eyed her patient with a threatening look on her face. “If you attempt to get out of that bed before I say, I’ll beat you with a medicine spoon. Or better yet, I’ll feed you the actual medicine. Rowena just sent in a new batch of kale cold remedy.”

Dean paled. “Yes, ma’am. I won’t get out of bed. No need for the medicine, nope!” He gave her a winning smile, causing Castiel to wonder exactly what kale cold remedy was. From the terrified look on Sam’s face, it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Missouri hummed disapprovingly. “That’s what I thought. Now hush, I need to change your bandages.” She bustled over, a fresh roll of wrappings in her hands. She gave Sam a warning look as she passed him. “You’re not bothering your brother, are you? It took a great deal of persuasion to get you in here this morning.”

“I’m being good, promise, Missouri,” Sam replied, giving her a bright smile. Castiel noticed that he had divots in his face, like Dean. What were those called? Dimples? Either way, they made the boy look adorable. Castiel couldn’t help but understand exactly why Dean loved him so much.

Missouri made a disbelieving noise, but she ruffled his hair as he passed. Castiel obediently slid out of the bed, like he had done before. Also like before, Dean reached out and took his wrist, making sure he couldn’t go far. The dragon stayed beside the bed patiently, watching as Missouri instructed Dean to flip over so she could change his bandages. She also directed him through a few stretches to test his range of motion.

He seemed to be doing better. It made Castiel’s wings flutter with pride. He was about to climb back on the bed when Missouri turned to him, dark eyes piercing. “I need to speak with you, Dragon Castiel.”

Castiel tried to fight the worry he felt at her words and the need to stay beside Dean at all times.”Of course,” he replied, following when she beckoned him toward the exit of the infirmary. It felt like physically tearing a part of himself out when he moved away from Dean, but he forced himself to remain calm and unbothered. Dean could handle himself. Besides, Castiel had a feeling Sam was no weakling either. The human would be fine for the length of whatever conversation Missouri wanted to have with him.

Still, Castiel didn’t even pretend not to see the lost look Dean gave him as he moved away. Unconsciously, Castiel’s wings flared comfortingly. _Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon_.

He followed Missouri out of the infirmary. Luckily, she didn’t move far, just stepped to the side of the entrance.

“What can I do for you, Nurse Missouri?” Castiel asked, keeping his voice low and respectful.

“I need to know when Alastair will show up,” Missouri said. She grimaced. “Dean isn’t ready to fight. He probably won’t be for a while. I need you to tell me what you can about your king, if you’re willing. Dean can’t… We need to keep him safe as long as possible. Lawrence is not a weak city. We can hold off dragon attacks for several days, if it comes to that.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, weighing the pros and cons of telling her what he knew about Alastair. She was a human, and one that had verbally stated that she wished to harm the dragon Castiel should be loyal to. But technically, Castiel was a traitor anyway, and telling Missouri about his king would neither serve nor harm him.

In the end, he decided on telling her everything. After all, if he couldn’t trust her, he couldn’t really trust anyone else. Missouri had proven herself to be an honorable human in the time Castiel had known her.

Besides, she’d saved Dean. He suspected he would always feel indebted to her for that.

“I can tell you that he is very clever,” Castiel began. “He is also very prideful. More so, I hear, now that his brothers are gone. I wouldn’t be surprised if their deaths had little effect on him. In my opinion, he stole Dean with the intention to kill him simply because he was a threat, not for revenge.”

“He didn’t care for his brothers?” Missouri asked, surprised. “I thought blood was as important as life to you dragons.”

“It normally is,” Castiel replied, wincing as he thought of his own broken-up family, torn apart by war. “Alastair has no morals. No reservations, no sanity, and absolutely no conscience. He likely tortured Dean simply for the fun of it. He has zero compassion and even less tolerance for anything that might hold him back from whatever he has planned. For now, that goal is to win the war.”

“So when will he come?” Missouri asked.

Castiel sighed. “Any day now. I would have given a day for the news to reach him, and a week for him to process and plan. Whatever is left is what it takes for him to travel here and scope out the area.”

“And will he bring an army?”

“Not likely,” Castiel said. Missouri’s eyebrows raised in surprise. The dragon hastened to explain. “Most of the dragon armies are spread thin fighting at different fronts in the war. If you hadn’t noticed, Human Kingdom Tran has been pressuring hard in the west. Alastair doesn’t have many willing fighters back home, and even less that he trusts deeply enough to have his back in a fight. He will likely bring four or five dragons with him, just in case anything goes sour.”

Missouri blew out a breath. “I’ll need you to repeat this, most likely with Advisor Singer.”

“I’m prepared,” Castiel replied, nodding.

“Good. I think… I think we can hold off five or six dragons,” Missouri said. She looked determined. “If there’s any kingdom that can withstand a siege, it’s Lawrence. We’re stubborn and strong.”

Castiel gave her a small smile. “If the city is anything like its princes, I have a feeling we’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SAMMEH.
> 
> I love Sam, honestly. I hope I did him justice. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and a special thank you to the people who comment and kudos. Y'all make my entire life brighter, I swear. I love you guys.
> 
> See you soon! ;)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends!
> 
> Okay, I have to admit, this chapter isn't as fluffy and awesome as the other ones. We're getting there, I promise. For now, y'all are going to have to settle for some more flying. ;)
> 
> I also need to take a moment to gush about the art I have been receiving for this story. I have had not one, not two, but THREE very, very talented artists come forward and tell me that they - of their own free will, and at the expense of their time, effort, and resources - decided to draw something that goes along with this story and share it with me. I am so incredibly grateful for them and I would like to take a moment to thank Confused_SPN_Fan, Phantom31615, and The_Iron_Maiden for their art (the third artist will be featured next chapter ;). Thank you so much, you guys. You have no idea how much that means to me.
> 
> On that note, I have some more amazing art from Phantom31615 that is featured in this chapter, because they keep drawing amazing stuff and giving it to me for free, which is ridiculous. I hope you enjoy both the picture and the chapter! ;)

**Twenty-One**

Missouri let Dean out of the infirmary a day early. She could probably tell that he was about to vibrate out of his skin.

“Gotta show you the horses, Cas,” Dean said excitedly as he led the dragon through the halls of the castle. He was trying to distract Castiel from the droves of staring, sometimes terrified humans that they were passing. He could see the dragon’s wings twitching uncomfortably behind him. Dean’s distraction seemed to be partially working.

“I have never ridden a horse before, Dean,” Castiel murmured quietly. 

“Yeah, I know. You’ll probably be a natural, but we can go slow,” Dean promised. He led the dragon to the double doors that led out of the main entrance of the castle, inhaling the blast of fresh air greedily. “Shit, it feels good to be outside.”

Castiel gave him a small, affectionate smile.

Dean grabbed his hand as they made their way for the stables, thinking little of it. After all the shit he’d been through, he figured he was entitled to a little physical affection. Anyone who said otherwise could go fuck themselves.

They got to the stables. Dean breathed in the calming scent of leather, hay, horses, and soap. He smiled to himself. “Come on. You’ll love Baby.”

He dragged Castiel down the long aisle of stalls. The dragon looked curiously at the horses they passed, blue eyes wide with amazement. The horses seemed fairly trusting of him, though Dean noticed he kept his wings tight to his back in an attempt not to scare them. His heart swelled with affection for the consideration that went into that action. He squeezed Castiel’s hand.

The dragon came to a halt at the last stall, releasing Dean’s hand so the human could release the latch on the door. He stepped into the familiar stall, smiling at the black warhorse that stood inside.

“She’s very beautiful, Dean,” Castiel murmured quietly, blue eyes wide. Baby had been recently cleaned, most likely by Sam. Her black coat gleamed so darkly it almost looked purple. Her dark eyes were intelligent as they took in the newcomer, her head rising from her feeding trough.

Dean felt a surge of pride. “Hell yeah, she is.” He fed Baby an apple, giving her a loving stroke. She whinnied appreciatively. “Did you miss me, girl?”

The horse gave a snort in response, stamping one of her hooves. Dean grinned and turned back to Castiel, delighted. “That mean she wants to got for a ride. They’ve got a free stallion somewhere in here. We can get Sammy to come along on Charger. Wanna ride?”

Castiel gave Dean a determined look, his jaw set. “Yes, Dean,” he replied. “Let’s ride.”

Sam ended up staying back at the castle, claiming he wanted to do some research on bluefire dragons. Dean had no doubt that the massive library in Lawrence would have information on them. He was half-tempted to go looking himself. That was quite unnecessary, however, when he had the real thing right in front of him. Said real thing was having problems at the moment.

“Why is he stopped?” Castiel asked. Dean turned from where Baby was walking easily down a side road. Castiel had paused a few yards behind, the pale golden horse he’d chosen at an obedient standstill.

Dean suppressed a smile. “You gotta stop pulling on the reins, Cas. Just hold ‘em nice and easy. Like this.” He shifted his body so the dragon could see.

Castiel grumbled. “Very well.”

He tapped his heels against the horse’s sides tentatively, jolting as the stallion started moving again. Dean was fairly sure it was an older horse, though newer to the royal stables. He was named Lincoln, or something like that. While Lincoln was a fairly ugly horse, he was obedient. Perfect for a first-time rider.

They continued down the road. Dean could tell that Baby wanted to let loose. The amount of free, open ground allowed for a perfect place for her to break into a sprint. Dean held back, though, knowing Castiel couldn’t hope to keep up if they went any faster than a light trot.

Despite his equine frustrations, Castiel seemed to be enjoying himself. He kept asking Dean about the different things they passed. So far, Dean had explained carriages, shopping markets, flatboats, docks, canals, and clotheslines.

Dean slowed Baby a little so they could fall level with Castiel. The dragon’s wings were tucked neatly against his back, the long tips hanging on either side of his horse so they shifted slightly with the wind. He looked handsome on a horse, Dean decided.

“What did Missouri want to talk to you about?” Dean asked curiously as they passed a line of fishermen, who waved. He waved back, smiling. He’d missed this, missed the casual interactions with people. With _his_ people.

“Alastair,” Castiel replied. That got Dean’s attention real quick. When Dean looked back at him, the dragon was grimacing. “Specifically, what his battle plans might be.”

“And what are those?” Dean asked. He hated to talk about the dragon in general, but he knew it was necessary. He figured it was time they had this talk, anyway. He wished it could wait until they weren’t doing something so pleasant, but he knew that was a selfish wish. Alastair could arrive at any second.

Castiel sighed, nudging Lincoln around a large pothole in the dirt road. “I told Missouri he will likely bring four or five dragons to support him. It’s the most he would feasibly allow in a situation where he will be very vulnerable.”

Dean felt some of the blood drain from his face at those words. Baby stamped her feet a little in response to his obvious discomfort. He patted her gently on her neck, appreciating the concern. “So… we’re gonna be fighting against four or five other dragons?” he asked, voice breaking halfway through the sentence.

Castiel’s eyes flicked to Dean’s. “Probably not. Alastair is nothing if not prideful. He won’t allow his victory over the Righteous Man to be stained by the help of other dragons. If it begins to look as if he’s losing, though… we may find ourselves outnumbered.”

“That’s fucking unfair,” Dean muttered, glaring at the road just between Baby’s pointed ears. 

“If there’s one thing you and I both know, it’s that Alastair doesn’t play fair,” Castiel replied grimly.

Dean sighed. “You’re right. What can we do?”

Castiel frowned, staring hard at the road ahead of them. They were walking along a long, flat dirt road. To their right, the irrigation canal flowed. To the left, Lawrence’s shopping centers and residential areas laid. It was calming here, pleasant. The sun was a little hot, but Dean didn’t mind. He was used to it. Summers in Lawrence were always blistering, anyway.

“We’ll need to find all of our advantages against Alastair and use them,” Castiel said. “It’s the only way we have a chance.”

“Okay. What are some differences between you and him?” Dean asked. Castiel looked a little confused, but he proceeded to list them off anyway.

“Well, he’s larger than me, I suppose. Less maneuverable. There are few dragons who can match me in the sky, anyway. His tail is built like my brother Lucifer’s, with spikes that can be shot with enough force. Again, hard to do in the sky,” Castiel said. He frowned deeper. “His fire is colder than mine, obviously. Still hot enough to roast you, though. Perhaps we should get you some armor.”

Dean snorted. “We got plenty of that, trust me. It’s made of aluminum-woven fabric. Withstands a lot of heat.” At Castiel’s nod, Dean added, “Pretty flexible too. I’ll need that if I’m going to be shooting. It sounds like we’re going to try to draw him into the air, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, nodding. “Fighting Alastair on the ground would most likely be fatal for both of us.” He narrowed his eyes. “He will likely try to bring us to the ground. I won’t let that happen, but you’ll need to be very in tune with my movements.”

“Not a problem,” Dean replied.

“I didn’t think so. Perhaps…” Castiel trailed off, looking thoughtful.

Dean frowned at the slight grimace on his dragon’s face. “What?”

“Well, I was thinking that perhaps we could find a way to tether you to me. That way you wouldn’t-“

“No,” Dean cut in, shaking his head. “That’s not an option.”

“Dean-"

“Cas, I won’t compromise your honor by-"

“Dean, my honor is already very compromised, thank you,” Castiel interrupted dryly. At Dean’s hurt look, his face softened. “It isn’t your fault. Those were my choices to make. And now, I won’t allow our chances of winning to be diminished by my pride.”

“It’s not fair, Cas,” Dean argued. “I won’t do that to you. You’re not a horse. Besides, I’m fine. I can grip your shoulders real tight anyway.”

“Dean, the kind of flying we’ll be doing will be far more-"

“Then practice with me,” Dean challenged. “I can take it. I won’t let you demean yourself for the sake of my comfort.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean. In the afternoon sunlight, his blue irises were brighter than any mortal’s had a right to be. Dean was fairly sure that Castiel’s eyes would have given him away for a dragon, if his wings weren’t visible. There was no way a normal human had eyes like that.

“You are the most infuriating, thoughtful, honest, brave, and foolish man I have ever met,” Castiel growled.

“That’s not even fair,” Dean protested. “I can’t refute it because it’s true, but I can’t accept it because it’s also not true.”

Castiel frowned at him. “Do not think I won’t be joining forces with your brother in an attempt to raise your self-esteem.”

Dean groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have introduced you to Sammy.”

Castiel gave him a mischievous smile. “That’s only the beginning.”

Dean snorted. “Wait until we kill the crazy tyrant dragon king first, Cas. You can marry me after that, I promise.”

“Did you really mean what you said earlier?” Castiel asked, standing in the middle of the castle courtyard.

Dean squinted at him in the darkness, trying to make out his face in the light of the torches some of the guards were holding as they watched. It seemed like the whole castle had come out to witness Castiel changing forms. They were all quietly watching from the edges of the courtyard, a shifting mass of people. It was making Dean nervous.

“Mean what?” he asked quietly, trying to figure out which hand his gauntlet went on.

“The… About the mating. Marriage, I mean,” Castiel said, equally as quiet. The moon barely cast a silver glow into the courtyard, making it hard to see his face. Dean was fairly sure he was blushing.

“Gods, can we not talk about this now?” Dean grumbled, finally figuring out which was left and which was right. He strapped his gauntlets on, flexing his fingers.

“Dean, it’s a very important-“

“We have an audience. Let’s get this over with, yeah?” Dean asked. He found Castiel’s lightly-glowing eyes in the darkness, silently pleading his dragon to let it go. _Later_ , Dean tried to convey.

Castiel seemed to get some form of the message. He gave a short nod and rolled out his shoulders, wings fluttering in the darkness. “Alright. Are they planning on watching the entire thing?”

“They’ll try,” Dean predicted. “You’ll be invisible once we get in the air.” It was true. It was the reason they were doing maneuverability tests at night. They didn’t want to risk being seen by surrounding dragons.

“Humans,” Castiel muttered. It didn’t sound like an insult, but it didn’t necessarily sound positive either. Dean snorted and patted Castiel on the shoulder, then stepped back. He’d learned to give the dragon space to shift early on.

Castiel didn’t seem to move for a moment. Dean’s eyes strained as he struggled to make out the dragon in the darkness. Then the dim shadows began to fucking _move_ , and Dean could see his friend morphing just fine.

He watched, with the rest of the humans in the courtyard, as Castiel shifted forms. It was quiet, barely more than a shifting of scales. The gasps and little cries from the crowd filled the silence. The guards’ torches seemed to flare brighter, illuminating scales darker than the gaps between the stars.

Castiel flared his wings in a silent show of strength. Dean rolled his eyes at the dragon’s preening, and at the gasps and shouts from the crowd.

Castiel turned to Dean, eyes glowing bright blue now. Dean could see light blue peeking through the gaps of his throat, a reminder of the furnace he had in his chest. Dean could feel the heat coming off his dragon as he stepped close. It was a comforting thing, especially when they got higher and the air became colder. Down here, it was just on the right side of too hot.

Dean waited until Castiel knelt, allowing him to climb on. His movements were fluid and efficient, his body remembering Castiel easily. Something settled, warm and gentle, in Dean’s chest when his knees locked into their familiar positions at the juncture of Castiel’s shoulders. He flicked down the protective visor on his armor, leaning forward to lock his gloved fingers on Castiel’s scales.

“Ready, Cas?” Dean asked.

The dragon gave a low, thundering rumble in response. He flared his wings again, the wind snapping in the leather flaps. His ears twitched in warning. Dean heard the telltale crack of the dragon’s tail opening. He tensed his whole body, facing toward the sky. He knew better than to put his face close to Castiel’s back on takeoff. He was still convinced his nose was a little crooked from that one time, no matter how many times Castiel assured him it wasn’t.

Dean felt Castiel’s muscles bunch underneath him. He released a loud whoop into the night as the dragon leaped into the sky, wings snapping open to catch a rising wind current. It felt amazing to be back in the air. The weightlessness, the feel of Castiel underneath him, the complete trust he held in the dragon… It was incredible.

Dean bowed at the waist, pressing his forehead against the scales beneath him. “Missed you, Cas,” he murmured into the dragon. He didn’t think Castiel would hear him, but the soft rumble he got in return had tears rising to his eyes that couldn’t be blamed on the wind.

Actually, the wind was _fantastic_. There was nearly none at all. At least, none bothering his eyes. For the first time, Dean could fully open his eyes without them tearing up straight away. Who knew the fire-goggles he'd taken from Lawrence's armory would help with vision during flight?

Dean gave a little laugh, reading the flick of Castiel’s ears. He tightened his grip on the dragon’s back with his knees, lowering his body close to Castiel’s as the dragon tucked his wings and spiraled into a dive.

Dean could understand what Castiel meant about ‘more intense’. He could feel the bigger drag on the wind, the G-force causing the blood to leave his head. He tensed his muscles as hard as he could, trying to remember how he’d coped last time. He’d trained with Castiel before. This was just another training session.

Well, kind of.

Dean nearly broke his face open on Castiel’s back again when the dragon snapped his wings open, the air catching in the flaps with a boom like a cannon blast. They slowed so dramatically that Dean barely had time to recover before Castiel was flapping upward. He didn’t rise fast enough for Dean to miss the excited shouts and screams from below.

Castiel had nose-dived and then blasted the courtyard with wind when he’d stopped them in midair. The bastard was fucking _showing off_.

Dean snorted, shouting at Castiel over the wind, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing!”

Castiel rumbled in response, clearly amused, by the tilt of his ears and the lightness to his grumbling. It made Dean smile. Fine. He didn’t mind Castiel showing off. The dragon deserved it anyway. It was just… Dean couldn’t really shake the idea that Castiel wasn’t showing off just for himself.

Dean had the strangest feeling that Castiel was flaunting _them_. Their relationship, their dynamic, their fluidity and teamwork in the sky. It made him feel lighter than air.

Dean patted the dragon on the neck, smiling. “Come on, buddy. I thought of a few new tricks to try.”

They didn’t come down from the sky until the sun was breaking the horizon.

Dean woke with a groan.

His entire body ached. He was pleasantly warm, but everything hurt. His back ached, his arms ached, his fingers ached, his _fucking legs_ -

“Good morning, Dean,” a familiar, rumbling voice said next to his ear.

Dean jumped a little, blinking at the dragon that was cradling his body with his wings. “Heya, Cas,” Dean replied sleepily. He groaned. “God, I feel like shit.”

“Yes. I believe Missouri said she was going to give you an ‘ass-kicking’, though how that is effective, I do not know,” Castiel told him. “She was quite upset that we went out and trained last night.”

Dean winced. “Great. Now she’s gonna feed me kale medicine to spite me. Gods, I love Rowena, but she really needs to learn to make her potions and remedies tastier.”

Castiel snorted. “I cannot even imagine. I don’t eat vegetables much.”

Dean gave him a grin. “If I could go meat only, I would. Unfortunately, I have a health freak of a brother, so that won’t be happening anytime soon. Speaking of time, what time _is_ it?” Dean sat up, groaning as he did so. His inner thighs especially felt sore from gripping Castiel’s shoulders.

_Wow. Dirty mind, much, Winchester?_ Dean thought, flushing lightly.

Castiel didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “It’s late in the afternoon, if the Sun Dial is anything to go off of.”

“The sundial? We don’t have a sundial in the-holy shit. This is my room.” Dean sat up even more. He hadn’t really noticed before, too focused on his sore muscles and the dragon next to him.

It _was_ his room. His familiar room right across the hall from the guard’s barracks, the one that had a sundial and an attached bathroom and enormous windows that he could use to look out at the Ryuu mountains.

“It’s quite charming,” Castiel said.

That was when Dean realized they were laying in his bed. Castiel was wearing loose clothes that looked quite comfortable, his hair tousled with sleep. Dean’s sea-blue sheets were twisted around the dragon’s waist, same as they were around his own.

Dean blushed deeply. He wasn’t even going to _think_ about how good Castiel looked in his bed, or how much better he would look leaning over Dean, blue eyes glowing-

And… yeah. When was the last time Dean had jerked off? That must be the problem. He was usually _never_ this dirty-minded. Well, okay, he was, but not about someone who he-well-he-Castiel _did_ say…

Yeah, Dean wasn’t going there. He wiped the whole mess of his head clean with a simple, _It’s complicated_.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Castiel murmured.

“You can?” Dean yelped, his voice definitely _not_ squeaking at the thought of Castiel being privy to the thoughts going through his head.

“No,” Castiel replied, looking amused. “Despite being very versatile, mind-reading isn’t one of dragons’ abilities. Unfortunately. Want to tell me what you were thinking about?”

Dean blushed deeply. “Uh, no.” Damn it, his voice was still squeaky. What the fuck?

The predatory look that had entered Castiel’s eyes didn’t help. “Are you sure?” the dragon asked quietly, raising an eyebrow.

Dean swallowed thickly.

Before he could give his very interesting answer, someone pounded on his door. Dean and Castiel both jolted with surprise, the intimate, warm atmosphere of the room dispersing. Dean cursed inwardly. “What?” he demanded, knowing it was likely Sammy or Jo.

“Prince Dean? Dragon Castiel?” a young-sounding voice called through the door.

Dean tensed, sliding out of bed. H was wearing soft sleep pants and a worn shirt, one that smelled like Castiel because of the cuddling they’d been doing recently. He distantly reflected that the dragon smelled good as he hobbled across the room and pulled the door open.

Outside the doorway, the hallways were in complete chaos. Servants and guards alike were running around, somehow managing to avoid collision by mere inches. There was a messenger boy standing in front of Dean, wearing half-attached armor. Dean absently reached forward and fastened his breastplate correctly. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

The boy couldn’t have been older than fourteen. He gave a shaky nod. “The Dragon King was spotted in the western Ryuu mountains half an hour ago. At this point, he should be-“

The kid never got to finish his sentence. The roar that interrupted him was enormous and vibrating, shaking the very foundations of the castle. Dean knew that roar, knew the dragon it belonged to.

Alastair had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm SORRY. *ducks rotten tomatoes being thrown* I KNOW it's another cliffhanger. I was totally prepared for this one too. I looked at my fic yesterday and was like, "Oh yeah, I have to post tomorrow." And then I looked at the next chapter that was being posted and I was like, "Oh shit, a cliffhanger."
> 
> So... yeah. :) I hope you're not too mad at me. I also hope that, aside from the ending, you liked the chapter. I can't believe how close to the end we are! It's crunch time for me. I always try to write the next story while I'm posting the other one, but I always get SLAMMED by a horrible case of writer's block, which I'm struggling with now (any tips on getting past that?). We'll see if the next fic comes out at a reasonable time after the end of this one, or if it'll take four years and a physical kick in the ass to get me moving again.
> 
> Whether or not that happens, the end is nigh! I'll see you all soon. ;) Thank you for being amazing.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my good friends!
> 
> I hope everyone is doing well! I still am, for once, and I don't want to jinx anything, but I ~~may have gotten past my writer's block.~~ Fun times. ;)
> 
> I can't believe we've gotten so far. *sniffles* Our babies are all grown up and in love and ready to die. :'(
> 
> This'll be fun.

**Twenty-Two**

Castiel mounted the final steps of the High Tower, muscles burning lightly. He could feel the pleasant ache of training in his wings, the slight pain of sore muscles. He and Dean had flown for a long time last night. Castiel smiled a little as he remembered the bright, joyous laughter from the prince on his back, the gasps and shouts of appreciation from the humans below. Gods, he loved flying with Dean.

All his other thinking faded away in a snap as his feet met the High Tower’s surface. Up here, Castiel had an unobscured view of Lawrence. It was a beautiful city, he decided. Neat and modest. Throughout the city streets, guard towers, catapults, and crossbows were being mounted. Citizens were fleeing to their underground bunkers under their houses in response to the horns that were being blown all around the city’s walls. All along the high guard wall, enormous braziers of warning fire had been lit.

Humans were nothing if not resourceful, Castiel decided. The extent of their warning and defense system was surprising and impressive.

“Where?” he growled to the group of guards watching him.

“East, Dragon Castiel. He’s just around the second-tallest peak,” one of the guards told him, pointing out and away from the city.

Ah, yes. Alastair.

The ash-gray dragon was curled peacefully around the second-tallest mountain peak within viewing distance. Lawrence’s walls backed right up against the base of the Ryuu mountains, meaning that Alastair wasn’t far. Merely a few miles, perhaps. He was looking down at the city with glowing silver eyes, the chest and throat plates of his underbelly glowing at the cracks.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, picking out four other dragons surrounding him. Lilith, Belphegor, Cain, and Dagon. Castiel wasn’t surprised by the selection. Predictability, however, didn’t make any of them any less deadly.

“Why are they just sitting there?” one of the guards whispered, terrified.

“They’re waiting for nightfall,” Castiel replied. “It’s harder to hit them in the night sky. The moonlight isn’t sufficient lighting for targeting them with catapults. They’re hoping to throw off your aim.”

“Why show themselves at all?” the guard asked, turning from the waiting dragons to look at Castiel with wide eyes. Castiel could pretty much taste the fear that was emanating from the gathered guards on top of High Tower.

The dragon swallowed. “He’s likely hoping you’ll turn on Dean and present him to you. That’s what happened at Skyborne three hundred years ago.”

One of the guards, a burly red-headed man, nodded. “Ye, that’s ‘ow I remember it from ma schoolin’. Bastards betrayed their king like tha’.” He snapped his fingers to emphasize the suddenness.

The other guards shivered. “Why would they do that?”

“They thought it would spare them,” Castiel replied grimly. “Alastair promised mercy if they betrayed their king to him.”

“Did he grant it?” one of the female guards asked, voice hushed. The wind howled around them, making the High Tower groan.

Castiel turned from the collection of terrified guards and looked back up at the waiting Dragon King, remembering the bloody carnage that lay strewn across Skyborne for years afterward. 

“No.”

“Need you to tell me weak points, now.”

Castiel watched Dean hastily sling on his armor. The human prince’s movements were practiced and smooth, unaffected by the obvious panic that seemed to have descended upon the entire city. Dean Winchester did not strike Castiel as someone to get hysterical in a crisis, and so far, Dean seemed to be proving his intuition right.

“Weak points for what?” Castiel asked, stepping forward to help Dean with the back straps of his armor. He knew the green-eyed man’s back was still healing from his whipping. He hated that Dean wasn’t fully recovered, that it could very well lead to him being even more seriously injured here.

“Arrows,” Dean replied, snapping on his gauntlets and wrist guards with quick, efficient pops. “Tell me where the soft spots are. Where do I aim? I have a feeling Alastair will be wary of his eyes. He knows how Asmodeus died.”

“Besides the eyes, there’s the chinks of armor at the chest and belly,” Castiel replied. He frowned. “Those are likely not very reliable. It would take Alastiar exposing his belly for you to even get a chance.” The dragon paused as he thought. “There’s also the oxygen-slats at the juncture of shoulder and chest. They offer access to the lungs, but you’ll need to be precise.”

“I can do that,” Dean said, shaking out his arms. Castiel admired the lean, elegant lines of his body as he moved, the precise, predatory shift of muscles underneath shiny silver armor. Dean jerked his arms a few times, testing the mobility of his shoulders for shooting. “Not great, but it’ll do.”

“I’ll try to keep you out of the line of direct fire,” Castiel said, stepping forward to hand Dean his daggers. “I realize that your suit is flame-protectant to a point. It won’t withstand a head-on attack, correct?”

“Right,” Dean replied, patting the shell-like material of his armor. “Actually I think it’ll start melting on me if it gets hot enough. No direct fire, please.”

Castiel nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t let himself panic right now. Later, perhaps. After this was over. For now, he needed to be focused and efficient.

“What does fire come from?” Dean asked. It seemed sort of sudden. At Castiel’s confused face, the prince elaborated. “I just… I noticed it came from a little thing in the back of your throat. Obviously, the food you eat doesn’t go down there, right?”

Castiel shook his head, understanding. “There are two tubes in our throats. One is for food, as you observed. The other is for oxygen and fire. The fire chamber is right underneath the lungs. When we want to heat our fire, we release a muscle that allows the oxygen to flow from the lungs to the fire chamber as well.”

“That’s why you can’t keep breathing, even if you’re spitting fire?” Dean asked. “I always wondered why you guys wouldn’t just keep feeding the flames.”

“Correct. We can only breathe and spit fire once at a time,” Castiel replied. He grimaced. “I’m not sure we could eat and breathe fire, either. The fire heats our throats, makes it hard to swallow.”

Dean nodded. “Makes sense. Would the back of the throat be a weak point for a dragon too?” he asked.

Castiel frowned. “I suppose, but that’s only if you manage to rupture the tissue inside. It is very strong, Dean. You’d need to be head-on to pierce the throat.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully. “Good to know.”

He strapped on his sword, the broad blade glinting in the light. Castiel had asked, once, why the swords were all different. Some were long, some were curved, some had two sharp edges and some had one. Dean had replied that there were different kinds of blades. The prince used a broadsword. 

Castiel looked around the armory, marveling at the different kinds of blades and arrows. As Dean slung an enormous bow that Castiel thought was a longbow over his shoulder, the dragon asked, “What kind of arrows will you be carrying?”

“Barbed,” Dean replied. He gestured to some cruel-tipped arrows that he was attaching to his belt. “Normal arrows might not stick as well. Babred are huge hemorrhage weapons, anyway. Poison would be useless, since they’re heavier at the tip and wouldn’t fly far. Besides, they would be ineffective against something as big as Alastair. Flame arrows’ uselessness is, of course, self-explanatory.”

“And the reason you aren’t taking that… long basket?” Castiel asked, eyeing the items on the wall.

“The quiver? Cas, the second we go upside-down, I’d lose every single arrow I have.” Dean patted his belt, where the arrows were strapped into little loops of leather. “This’ll do just fine.”

The prince checked his weaponry one more time, fingers meticulous and smooth. Castiel watched him somewhat anxiously, feeling sort of naked in his thin leather armor. He wouldn’t need it, really. His dragon form was enough protection. It was more of a precautionary measure.

“Are you ready?” Castiel asked Dean. The prince nodded, jaw set grimly. For a moment, they said nothing, just looked at each other. Underneath the golden lights of the armory, Castiel reflected that Dean looked beautiful. His green eyes stood out like lightning, his hair tinged at the ends like he was wearing a halo. The dragon’s wings quivered with the need to wrap around the human.

“We’re gonna be fine, Cas,” Dean said quietly. His smooth, low voice was soothing. His eyes were sure and sparkling with confidence. Despite the encouragement, Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to be comforted.

“Dean, we’re going up against the most dangerous dragon in the world. And his friends. We’re…” Castiel trailed off, giving Dean a pleading look. “We’re just two outcast idiots. I’m a traitor, and you’re a boy-king who’s in love with a dragon.”

Dean eyed him. “Oh, so I’m in love you now, is that it?”

Castiel paled, taking a physical step back. “Um, yes?” The dragon kicked himself internally, devastated that he’d even said that out loud. “I’m sorry, Dean, I… I didn’t mean to-didn’t mean to as-“

“Shut up and kiss me, you fucking dumbass,” Dean muttered, chasing Castiel as he backed up toward the exit to the armory. Dean managed to catch him before he even got halfway, pressing his plush lips against Castiel’s.

The dragon’s eyes widened, the feeling of Dean’s mouth on his own shocking him into going rigid. For a moment, he could do nothing but stand there. After half a second, though, he registered that he was supposed to be _doing_ something, and he kissed back.

Dean laughed against his lips as Castiel clumsily kissed him. “Not much experience, huh, dragon?” he asked quietly, looking up at Castiel with soft green eyes.

“Not in human form, no,” Castiel replied. Or at all, really. He slid his arms around Dean’s body, resting his hands on his lower back, his fingers pressing into the curve right where Dean’s back ended. There was something primally satisfying about having Dean’s lean body pressed against his. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.”

Dean flushed darkly, the color making his freckles stand out. “I guess you will.” He kissed Castiel again, just once, on the lips.

“It’s getting dark,” Castiel remarked as the prince pulled back. Dean nodded.

“Yeah, I know,” the human replied. “We’re cutting it short as it is. Lawrence can probably hold off the other dragons, but we’ll need to keep Alastair distracted.”

“We’ll be doing more than enough for that,” Castiel muttered. He pulled away from Dean, trailing his hands away from the prince’s shoulder. “Stay here. I’m going to check the position of the sun. Alastair will attack at sundown, most likely.”

“Probably. The guards will sound the horns the second he twitches, so we’ll have a few minutes of warning,” Dean replied. He watched Castiel head up the stairs that led out of the underground armory, his expression unreadable.

The dragon hurried up the stairs, wings flared a little to catch the updraft. It was more instinct than anything, his pathetic attempt to move faster in human form.

He reached the windows after a few flights of stairs. They looked out onto the courtyard, the bottoms of the windowsills mere feet from the ground. Outside, the sun was staining the sky a dark red. It was about halfway through its descent.

The castle was eerily quiet. There was virtually no one aboveground right now. Everyone was hiding in the safe rooms beneath the dungeons, huddled up in bunkers that could sustain a large amount of people for several months. It was quite genius, when Castiel had had the chance to catch a glimpse. He only wished his own kind weren’t the cause for such an invention.

He took a deep breath calling back down the stairs, “Dean?” His voice echoed eerily in the empty hallway.

“Yeah?” came Dean’s response. He poked his head out from around the armory door, his fire-protection visor down over his eyes.

“It’s time,” Castiel said. It was so quiet in the castle, the weakness in his voice didn’t matter. Dean heard him perfectly fine.

The prince nodded, setting his jaw. He hurried up the stairs to Castiel’s side, looking out at the castle courtyard. “Shit,” Dean muttered. He narrowed his eyes, taking everything in. Even the horses in the stables had been taken somewhere safe. The only sound in the normally-bustling space was the wind. “It’s so quiet.”

“They’re frightened,” Castiel remarked.

“They should be,” Dean murmured. “I have a feeling this won’t be easy. I’m probably gonna die.” The _we_ was left unsaid. Castiel understood Dean’s tentativeness around that word. It implied that what they’d said in that armory was true. It implied that there was going to be something _after_ this, that they were somehow going to beat these impossible odds. Castiel didn’t want to think like that. Not yet.

Still, the tension in Dean’s shoulders needed easing. So, Castiel said, “I’ll go with you.”

Dean turned and gave Castiel a small smile. “Guess we’re a couple of dumbasses, huh?”

“I prefer the words ‘in love’,” Castiel replied, smiling back. “Less dumb. Less ass. We trust each other. That's enough, right?”

Dean’s eyes softened. “If there’s anyone I trust, it’s you, Cas. If we… If we die today, that’s okay. And if you drop me-"

“I won’t drop you, Dean,” Castiel replied firmly, his eyes heating a little threateningly at the thought.

“If you do,” Dean said gently, “I trust you to catch me.”

Castiel opened his mouth, attempting to speak. He found he couldn’t, floored by the words that had just come out of Dean’s mouth. He knew they were true. The light-haired man was looking at him with sincerity sparkling in his gold-green eyes. There was a small, beautiful smile on his pink lips. Castiel really wanted to kiss him. He wanted to wrap his wings around Dean and hold him tightly.

He didn’t. He had a feeling that if he did, he would never let go.

“Come on,” Dean said quietly, holding out his hand. Castiel took it, feeling grounded by the warm, calloused palm in his own. It reminded him of the simple fact he needed to share, the thing that he hoped would never become a reality.

“Dean, there’s one more thing,” he said.

Dean looked at him, a frown marring his face. “What’s the matter, Cas?”

Castiel swallowed. His throat felt tight, for some reason. “If… If for some reason, we’re grounded,” he said, “and you can’t… and I’m unavailable-"

“You’re not gonna die, Cas,” Dean interrupted, voice firm and unyielding. “I’ll fucking destroy that bastard before he can hurt you. We’re gonna be fine.”

“Dean, if I die,” Castiel insisted, “you need to-"

“You’re not gonna _die_ -"

“-know that there is a weak spot on the back of a dragon’s head.” Castiel took the hand Dean was holding and brought it up, pressing the human’s palm to the base of his skull. “It’s where the dragon’s frill is attached to the spine. It has direct access to the spinal cord and a very large vein. Sever it, and you’ll kill the dragon. Instantly.” Dean swallowed, his throat clicking loudly in the silence. His hand was trembling lightly against the back of Castiel’s neck. The dragon steeled himself and looked Dean right in the eyes. “Dean, I need you to tell me you understand.”

There was a pause. Then, “I… I understand, Cas,” Dean whispered, voice breaking halfway through.

“Good,” Castiel breathed. “Good.”

“It’s never gonna happen,” Dean whispered fiercely. “I won’t lose you.” He had tears pooling in his beautiful eyes. Castiel ached to wipe them away. “I won’t lose you, Cas.”

“I won’t leave, treasure,” Castiel replied, kissing Dean’s palm softly. He pressed it to his forehead for a moment, reveling in the warmth of life, the pulse of blood in Dean’s wrist. “We’re together, Dean Winchester. Until death, and beyond.”

Dean didn’t speak. He did shift his hand to grasp Castiel’s hand better, though. When the dragon pulled his head away from the human’s palm, he saw that the tears had broken free and slipped silently down Dean’s face.

“Let’s go.”

Castiel nodded quietly. He allowed Dean to move past him, to lead him to the grand entrance of the castle.

They walked through the enormous double doors, leaving them a little open. Dean led Castiel to the middle of the courtyard, where they’d stood the night before. The sun was dying now, the sky bleeding red in its wake. The wind seemed loud in comparison to the silence. The entire city seemed to be holding its breath, hidden underneath the ground. Castiel silently prayed to the gods for good luck. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t just fighting for Dean. He was fighting for his people, and for Dean’s people too. For the hatchlings and children, the men and women and civilians, who had all been just as affected by this war as the soldiers who had never come home.

Dean stepped back silently, armor shifting seamlessly on his body. Castiel closed his eyes and willed the change to take place, the familiar feeling of pins and needles descending over his human form. He could feel the wind increase on his face, could feel his wings getter larger and more powerful. When the tingling had stopped, Castiel spread them, feeling the tug of the breeze. He could tell which direction it was coming from, which was nice. His tail snapped open.

Castiel bent his front legs, watching with his left eye as Dean moved toward him. The human slung his leg over Castiel’s neck easily, the movement fluid. It was a nice contrast to the tentative, awkward way they’d acted around each other mere months ago. Gods, they’d come a long way.

Castiel straightened when he felt Dean settle into his normal, comfortable spot on the dragon’s back. Castiel flicked his ears in silent question, knowing Dean would understand.

“I’m ready,” Dean replied. His voice was firm and confident. Unwavering. The voice of a king. “Let’s go kick some dragon ass.”

Castiel launched into the air in response. For a moment, there was only the wild whirl of the wind all around them. Castiel flared his tail and angled his wings to catch the updraft, the movements more instinct than conscious thought. They rose swiftly into the air.

Somewhere down below, the warning horns sounded. The guards on the wall were sounding the alarm.

In front of them, backed by the silhouette of the Ryuu mountains, Alastair rose.

Castiel opened his mouth and roared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know, that was mean.
> 
> When I was writing this, I was totally prepared to write a whole battle scene in this chapter, but then my wonderful muse smacked me upside the head, threw me down the stairs, and said, "nO, we're having MOAR FLUFF."
> 
> So here we are. More fluff. Some pre-battle angst. AND KISSES, OOOOOOOH! We're getting serious in here. We'll just have to see if everyone survives long enough to hear the precious three words... ;)
> 
> I will see you all neeeexxt time! Thank you for reading. Also, some badass art in the next chapter, so look forward to that! :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, beautiful people. Sorry for how late in the day (night???) this chapter is. I was so exhausted, I slept all the way until three o'clock in the afternoon. I am getting NO sleep tonight. WOOO! :)
> 
> WE HAVE SOME ART! WOOOOOHOOOOO! *waves hands excitedly* THANK YOU to The_Iron_Maiden. I am so excited to finally be posting your work. All of you artists are incredible. I am so spoiled. Thank you so much for the art, it's absolutely beautiful. Give them some love in the comments! ;)
> 
> Alright. :)
> 
> A recap, if you need it (the chapter picks up as if no time has passed): THE BATTLE IS HERE. Dean and Castiel have just taken off and are preparing to fight Alastair. He's coming, my dear friends. And he's not going to leave until he's the last one left alive.
> 
> ;)
> 
> Enjoy.

**Twenty-Three**

Castiel’s battlecry rattled Dean’s bones. So did the answering roar from the mountains. Both rumbled like thunder through the sky. Both promised death and destruction.

Alastair and his gang of friends rose as one. For a moment, Dean was terrified that they would all come straight for him and Castiel, but the four other dragons soon peeled off. Dean watched with partial horror and partial disgust as they headed straight for the human city, intent on wreaking havoc. As one came within range of the first catapult, the first boulder was launched into the air.

Dean didn’t have the time to check if it hit. His entire world was immediately tilted on its axis as a thundering roar shook the air. He could only hope that his city could defend itself while he and Castiel took care of the real threat:

Alastair.

Castiel’s ears flicked to the left, giving Dean half a second of warning before the dragon dove to the side. The reasoning for the sudden maneuver was clear moments later, when a fireball blasted through the place they’d been hovering moments before. Alastair wasn’t fucking around, then. He was going right for the kill.

Castiel dove, banking hard around the castle as he circled around to face Alastair. Dean reached for his belt and pulled out his first arrow. As they came level with Alastair again, Dean straightened up, his knees gripping Castiel’s neck tightly to keep his seat. He could feel the wind tugging on him intensely. It yanked at the bow he unslung from his shoulder, pulled at the feathers of the arrow he notched into the string. Dean fought to keep his body in a straight, neat line as he drew back, his core muscles tightening in an attempt to fight against the huge onslaught of wind.

They were flying straight at Alastair. At this angle, Dean could see that what Castiel had said earlier was right. Alastair was a lot bigger than him. Dean hadn’t ever really had an appreciation of just _how_ big Alastair was until he saw him next to Castiel. The black dragon wasn’t exactly small, but Alastair made him look like a fledgling.

The Dragon King in question looked gleeful, his silver eyes alight with murderous excitement as he barreled toward them. Castiel was heading straight for him in a straight, unbroken line. Only the slight angle to the dragon’s wings and the tilt to his ears tipped Dean off to what he was planning.

He forced himself to be patient, arms straining against the strength of the taut bowstring. He pulled back a little harder as they came within a few hundred yards of Alastair.

The gray dragon opened his mouth, fire glowing in the back of his throat. Dean aimed and fired.

A millisecond later, Castiel released a fireball and dove to the left, narrowly avoiding the stream of fire that erupted from Alastair’s throat. They passed so close to the dragon, Dean could feel the heat of his fire and smell the stench of sulfur and rotting bodies. It made him gag.

He heard a roar of rage, which meant either he or Castiel had landed a shot. Castiel dove down and arced back up, attempting to come level with Alastair again.

Dean couldn’t see any major burn marks on Alastair as they wheeled back around, so he figured Castiel had missed and he had managed to hit the Dragon King with his arrow. He obviously hadn’t hit the bullseye, since Alastair wasn’t dead. Dean supposed it was the principle of being hit at all that enraged the other dragon. 

Castiel did the same thing as before, charging straight at Alastair, only to pull off last second with a blast of fire in the other dragon’s direction. It became a pattern. They would fly straight at him, fire arrows and fireballs, duck the answering attack, circle around, and do it again. It was a deadly dance, one that had Dean’s heart thundering in his chest.

When Castiel used his fire, it seemed to make the surrounding air boil. It was so hot, Dean could feel it on his face. He could feel the faint heat of it as it traveled up the dragon’s throat, underneath his knees. It was as terrifying as it was awe-inspiring. He was very glad he wasn’t on the receiving end.

This time around the circle of fire and wind, both he and Castiel missed their shots. Alastair was getting smart. Dean could tell he was beginning to anticipate their movements He knew Castiel could tell too.

The next time they circled around, when Castiel went for Alastair again, he dove right instead of left. That caught the Dragon King off guard. When they wheeled around yet again, Dean could see that Alastair’s back right foot was burnt and smoking badly. The Dragon King’s face was twisted in a snarl of rage and pain.

“Nice shot, Cas!” Dean shouted over the wind. He straightened in an attempt to shoot at Alastair again, aware of the limited supply of arrows he had. Gods, he wished he’d brought more.

Alastair looked fucking _pissed_ now that he’d been hit with both fire and arrows. He shot a blast of fire again, narrowly missing Dean by mere yards. It took the prince a second to realize that Alastair was aiming for _him_. He wasn’t shooting at Castiel. He was going solely for Dean. That was why all his shots were going high.

And Castiel… He was using his flight advantage. Alastair was bigger and less maneuverable, so Castiel was attempting to outfly him by being quick. It seemed to be working so far, but Dean knew that the black dragon would soon get tired. That, and Alastair wasn’t stupid enough to try the same thing over and over again. At some point, he’d figure out his current method wasn’t working and attempt something else.

Dean was right. On the very next pass, Alastair fired some sort of spike out of his tail. It swept past terrifyingly close, nearly giving Dean a haircut as it whizzed overhead. Castiel seemed to take longer to recover when he dove down, whether because he was being careful or he was getting tired, Dean didn’t know.

As they rose for another shot at Alastair, a blast of fire came hurtling past earlier than expected, accompanied by several spikes. Dean heard Castiel’s roar of pain as one of them clipped his right flank, sending a spray of silver blood flying through the air.

Alastair was finally getting smart. He was targeting Castiel instead of Dean.

“Motherfucker,” Dean hissed through his teeth, glaring at the Dragon King. He was hovering a couple hundred yards away, enormous wings battering the roofs of the houses below him. 

Across the city, the roar of dragons and the snap of catapults sounded. When Dean spared a second to look, he saw three of Alastair’s cronies still in the air. The fourth was on the ground, attempting to take out one of the catapults with her teeth. As Dean watched, she launched back into the air to escape the relentless catapult, part of her tail badly damaged. Good. Lawrence seemed to be holding its own.

For now.

Castiel was pounding his way toward Alastair again. Blood was seeping from the wound on his right flank now. Dean could tell, from the tightness of the dragon’s muscles, that Castiel was in pain.

That made Dean fucking _mad_. Alastair had hurt Castiel. He’d fucking made him bleed. In that moment, Dean almost wished they _were_ on the ground, so he could attack Alastair head-on. He wanted to see the Dragon King bleed out slowly on the mountainside, like his brother had. Alastair deserved to die painfully for hurting Castiel. For hurting _Dean’s_ dragon. As they neared again, Dean drew back another arrow, fueled by rage. He couldn’t believe that Alastair had hurt his dragon. He was going to fucking _pay_.

This time, Dean fired low. He’d memorized Alastair’s flight pattern, and he adjusted his aim accordingly. Before the Dragon King even had a chance to spit fire, Dean could hear the high scream of pain erupting from his throat.

Castiel ducked low to avoid the sudden lashing of a spiked tail. He didn’t quite make it, though, and Alastair’s barbs raked over his back. Dean yelped, terror flashing through him as his left leg was suddenly clawed away from Castiel’s body.

In the space of a heartbeat, he was suddenly hanging onto Castiel by only his hands, his fingertips digging into the spaces between the dragon’s scales. Castiel’s wings were stuttering in the air, making the normally-smooth ride choppy and dangerous. Dean nearly lost his grip, forcing his core muscles to work as he brought his legs back down to latch onto the dragon.

His entire left leg felt like it was on fire. Alastair had scraped three deep gashes into Castiel’s back. One of them had ripped across Dean’s left thigh, tearing deep into the muscle. The only reason the leg was even still _attached_ to him was because of the stupid armor Dean had thrown on. The agony made his chest spasm.

Tears that had nothing to do with the intense cut of the wind leaked from Dean’s eyes. He gritted his teeth, forcing his weak leg to squeeze the muscular, scaled expanse of Castiel’s neck. He needed to keep his seat. He needed to. If he didn't, he'd fall and leave Castiel to fight Alastair all by himself.

His dragon didn’t seem to be faring much better. His back was bleeding badly. It seemed that Alastair had managed to claw into his shoulder, making his left wing spasm every few beats. It made Dean’s stomach drop like a stone every time they lost altitude. Castiel’s teeth were bared in a snarl of pain as he slowly wheeled around, going to face Alastair again.

When Dean got a look at the Dragon King again, he cursed his luck.

He’d hit Alastair in the eye. There was an obvious arrow sticking out of the bloody left eye socket. It seemed Dean’s angle had been wrong, though. The arrow hadn’t going straight to the Dragon King’s brain, where it would have killed him instantly. Instead, it seemed to have embedded somewhere in his skull. Alastair’s teeth were bared in a snarl of rage and agony, his head tilted left to accommodate for the blindness of his eye. He was very angry, and very much alive.

Fucking shit.

Castiel’s wingbeats were choppy and limping. Dean could tell that Alastair’s spike-attack had done some serious damage. Castiel was listing to the left in the air, his back pulsing silver blood. Dean, honestly, wasn’t doing much better. His left leg was completely numb, just a whitewash of agony. He could barely breathe, what with the tearing wind and pulsating pain.

Whatever came next, this battle was going to have to end. Soon.

Castiel flew straight at Alastair again. Dean felt his heart surge with fondness for his brave, persistent dragon. Even injured, Castiel was a force to be reckoned with in the air. Dean could feel the heat of his fire as they pounded toward Alastair. Castiel wasn’t going to stop attacking the Dragon King until he couldn’t anymore.

That fondness for Castiel melted into dim horror as Dean realized that this fight was going to end very soon, and that it might just cost his dragon his life. Castiel showed no signs of slowing down or stopping, even if he was badly injured and at a disadvantage.

That wouldn’t happen. Castiel wasn’t going to die. Dean wouldn’t let it happen. He _wouldn’t_.

He reached for his belt, fingering over the empty loops until he came to an arrow. As he pulled it out, Dean realized it was his last one.

He notched the arrow into the bowstring, straightening on Castiel’s back. His leg burned like fire was consuming it. The agony grew to a shrieking crescendo as Dean tightened his grip on the dragon’s back with his legs, forcing his body to remain steady as he pulled back on his last arrow.

They came level with Alastair again. Dean could see Castiel’s wings fumbling in the air, the left stuttering more than the right. Dean forced himself to remain level and steady, his mind silently accommodating the new rhythm of his ride. Alastair was drawing closer, his head tilted left to make up for the blindness on the other side.

The Dragon King’s single working eye was alight with rage. He was glaring straight at Dean. There was no fucking around on his bloodstained face. He was going for the kill.

Silently, Dean’s mind tallied the distance between the two dragons.

_Four hundred yards._

Castiel’s neck was heating unbearably hot beneath Dean’s knees. He could tell the dragon was revving his inner fire to the hottest temperature it could manage, which would add up to what felt like the heat of the sun.

_Three hundred yards_.

Dean could hear Alastair’s wingbeats now, steady and rhythmic, unlike Castiel’s choppy, uneven ones. The dragon was straining beneath Dean, his nostrils puffing clouds of smoke.

_Two hundred yards_.

Alastair was watching them, waiting for them to come to him. Dean could see the telltale glow of fire in his chest, the light of killing and bloodlust in his eyes.

_One hundred yards_.

Dean drew back as far as the bow would allow.

_Seventy five yards_.

Castiel opened his mouth. Through the clean scent of woodsmoke and ash, Dean could feel the intense heat of a thousand forges.

_Fifty yards_.

Alastair flicked his tail, his wings angling as he dove toward them. A roar like thunder rose from Castiel’s chest as the dark dragon rose to meet him, wings pounding the air around them.

They came close enough for Dean to see the glint of the dying sun on Alastair’s bloody face.

Dean fired.

At the same time, heat erupted all around him. Castiel’s entire neck convulsed with the force of the fireball he sent at the Dragon King. Dean could feel it pulse underneath his legs. It felt like his face was practically blistering with the proximity to Castiel’s fire.

It took Dean’s exhausted, pain-addled brain a second to realize that he was actually _burning_ , and that the high scream of pain he could hear wasn’t coming from Alastair. Dean blinked sluggishly, realizing that Castiel hadn’t managed to get out of the way in time. His entire back was scorched.

And Dean… Dean was on fire. His armor was _melting_ , softening and then hardening in the cold rush of wind, fucking _cooking_ him inside of it. Castiel’s scales were darkened with soot. Searing heat like metal just out of the forge burned along Dean's body. A pained scream tore from his throat, ripped away by the rushing wind.

Castiel was struggling to stay in the air. Alastair had fired earlier than either of them had anticipated, meaning that he’d managed to catch Castiel before the dragon could dive out of the way. They’d missed the worst of the shot, but Dean and Castiel had both been badly burned.

Castiel was heading for the ground. Dean knew what he was going for. He knew that when Castiel landed, Alastair would follow, and then it would all be over. Castiel wasn’t built for fighting up close. He was going to die.

No. Fucking no. Dean wouldn’t let that happen. He _couldn’t_.

“Cas,” he choked out, voice rough from screaming he didn’t remember doing. “Cas, stay in the air! Gods damn it, go _up!_ ”

Cas, gods bless him, actually listened. His tail snapped in the wind and he rose, the ascent shaky and far from Castiel’s usual grace. Dean could feel the dragon trembling with pain beneath him. It fucking _killed_ him to know that he was demanding this of his dragon, that he was hurting Cas. But he needed to do this. He needed to make sure Castiel was safe.

Alastair wasn’t doing much better, Dean saw. They came level with the Dragon King in time to see him shakily right himself, wings pounding unevenly to keep his enormous bulk in the air. The left side of his chest was badly burned, the smoke rising into the sky. It seemed Castiel had missed, but his fire was hot enough to burn just from proximity alone.

“Go to the king,” Dean shouted over the wind, voice rough and breaking. “Don’t fire, Cas. Just get me close.”

Castiel hesitated, then obeyed. Dean ran his fingers over the empty loops of his belt. The arrow he’d fired had probably been disintegrated by the heat of the colliding dragons’ fire. He had no more left.

Alastair looked shocked that they were even in the air. His lizard face was twisted with pain, his wingbeats uneven. Dean wasn’t sure who was in worse shape at this point. All he knew was that he needed to end it. _Now_.

Alastair bared his teeth in a threatening snarl as he took in their trajectory. It was obvious that Castiel was flying straight toward him. Dean calculated the distance between the two dragons again. He could feel Castiel preparing to dip low in preparation of Alastair’s fire. He loosened his own grip, preparing himself for what he was planning to do.

Alastair gave a thready roar and beat his wings particularly hard, firing a white-hot fireball at them. It was weak and far-left, but still close enough to be deadly. Castiel dove low, ducking past the projectile. As soon as it passed overhead, he flared his wings and rose sharply, nearly colliding with Alastair as they passed the dragon on the way up.

The second they came within range, Dean let go completely.

He could hear Castiel’s roar of surprise and fear as Dean fell from his back. The prince barely had three seconds of weightlessness and empty air before he was slamming into something _hard_.

The breath was forced out of him as his back collided with Alastair’s. The Dragon King huffed in surprise, obviously caught off guard by the sudden weight of a human on his back. Dean could feel his wings wobble dangerously.

Dean flipped himself, squeezing his legs as best he could around Alastair’s neck. His left leg was pretty much useless, the wound in his thigh rendering it numb with agony. Dean could feel his limbs trembling with blood loss. His vision was spasming with the amount of burning pain coursing through his veins. He was minutes away from passing out. He had to be quick.

All around him, the sound of dragon fire and pounding wingbeats could be heard. The sun had dipped almost completely behind the horizon, meaning that the only light Dean could see by was that of the flashes of fire from below. It seemed Lawrence was still fighting off its attackers.

Alastair swiveled in the air, attempting to fling Dean off. He very nearly succeeded. His neck was wider than Castiel’s, making it harder for Dean to grip. The prince maintained his hold on the Dragon King’s back, though just barely. Once Alastair had stilled and was focused on trying to stay in the air again, Dean unsheathed his sword.

His arms were shaky as he brought it around his head, eyes on the place underneath the crown of Alastair’s horns.

_There is a weak spot on the back of a dragon’s head_ , Castiel had said. _It’s where the dragon’s frill is attached to the spine. It has direct access to the spinal cord and a very large vein. Sever it, and you’ll kill the dragon. Instantly_.

Dean shuffled forward, legs weak in their hold on Alastair’s neck. If the dragon attempted to throw him off again, he’d be successful. Dean needed to be fast.

_I’ll fucking destroy that bastard before he can hurt you. We’re gonna be fine_ , Dean had told Castiel. He’d meant it. He’d broken his promise. Alastair had hurt Castiel badly. And he was going to pay.

Dean sobbed through clenched teeth as he dragged himself forward, his stomach dropping fearfully as they lost a few feet of altitude. Alastair was obviously fighting past intense pain. Castiel’s fire and Dean’s arrows had done a number on the Dragon King. Good. He deserved it.

At this point, it was pure rage that was driving Dean. Rage and the need to make Alastair pay for hurting his dragon. For terrorizing his people, for being the cause of so much death and destruction. Alastair was the reason this whole war was still going. He was the reason dragons and humans hated each other, the reason so many of both sides had died for nothing.

Dean nearly vomited as a swerve from Alastair caused him to grip the dragon’s neck tighter. His leg felt like a live wire. The very wind blowing past made it flare up with agony.

_You changed me, Dean_ , Castiel had said all those days before. It was whispered in the back of Dean’s head at that moment, momentarily drowning out the scream of agony from his burned and broken body. _I love you_.

_I care for you_ , Dean had replied. He’d never get to tell Castiel how much he truly loved him. His dragon would never hear the words he so deserved.

That was okay. Dean was okay with that. Castiel would move on. As long as his dragon was safe, he'd be okay. As long as Cas was alive. As long as Sam and Bobby and Ellen and Missouri and Benny and Jo and Baby and _Cas_ were safe, it was going to be okay.

It was going to be okay.

Dean dragged himself forward the last few inches.

Alastair seemed to sense what was happening in those final moments. He sort of went rigid under Dean, as if he finally understood he’d lost.

“Bye, motherfucker,” Dean spat. He could tell, by the twitch of scarred, twisted ears, that Alastair had heard him. “See you in Hell.”

Dean raised his sword above his head and plunged it into the soft, vulnerable point at the base of Alastair’s head. He could feel it cleave through blood and bone, sinew and tendons. He could feel the second the life left Alastair’s body, the moment they began to fall.

As Dean fell through the open air, blood and smoke streaming behind him, he remembered his words to Castiel just before they’d taken off the final time. _I trust you to catch me_.

He still did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now going to head on over to my bomb shelter. I hired some armed guards to keep me safe, too. You would not BELIEVE how many threats on my life I have received throughout the duration of this story. It's starting to worry me.
> 
> (Not really. I know you guys are joking. I hope you are.)
> 
> See you all soon, if I survive that long! ;) Thanks for reading, you're all AMAAAAZING!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this one too! I usually post in the mornings, but I had an ungodly amount of things to do before I posted this. I HAVE IT, though, and that's all that matters. ;)
> 
> (Recap, if you need it: Dean just jumped off Castiel's back and onto Alastair's, then sliced through his spinal cord and killed him. Chapter picks up in Castiel's P.O.V.)
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

**Twenty-Four**

Castiel had never known real, true fear until the moment he felt Dean’s slight weight leave his back. He had fought in hundreds of battles, had been held down and bound by chains and nets. He’d been hunted by humans in the night, had had men threaten to cut the crown of horns from his head. Castiel had seen the horrors of war. He could even say he knew them intimately. 

And yet… Nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , could ever compare to the pure fear that arced through his bloodstream when he felt Dean fall from his place between his shoulders.

Agony was not a stranger to Castiel. The scars on his body were a testament to that. The burning, bleeding expanse of his back was not the worst he’d ever felt, though it certainly came close. It ached even now, in the cold air of the night sky. But the pain was muted, second in importance in the face of the utter panic coursing through his veins.

He leveled out hundreds of feet above the city. Below, fire and rubble spread like a map of destruction. Alastair’s chosen dragons had destroyed huge swaths of it, despite Lawrence’s best attempts to protect itself. Castiel’s heart hurt for the human kingdom, for the businesses and homes that had been no doubt razed to the ground.

Directly below him, Alastair’s wings spread in slow motion. They were enormous and gray, silvered by the light of the rising moon. The dragon was obviously hovering, trying to collect himself and his strength. And right in the center of his back, between the Dragon King’s powerful shoulders, a little silver figure glinted. 

_Dean_.

His melted, ruined armor was gleaming in the moonlight. The sun had now descended completely behind the horizon, dropping the world into darkness. The flashes of dragon fire from below seemed incredibly bright in contrast.

Castiel should have been relieved that Dean hadn’t fallen to the earth like he’d originally thought. Instead, all he felt was pure dread.

He remembered what he’d told Dean before, about the weak point at the back of a dragon’s head. He remembered Dean’s strange order. He’d wanted Castiel to get him close to Alastair. His entire plan had been to drop off Castiel’s back and land on Alastair’s, in a bid to end the Dragon King once and for all. That had been what he was going to do all along.

When Dean killed Alastair, the gray dragon would crumple and fall from the sky. Dean would fall with him. Dean wouldn’t survive, with how high they were hovering. Dean was going to die. Dean _knew_ that. Dean was sacrificing himself.

Castiel tucked his wings and dove.

Wind ripped past with the screaming howl of intense speed. Castiel’s entire back felt like it was still on fire. He could feel blood trailing in droplets up his ridge. Most of Alastair’s fire should have cauterized the wounds, but Castiel knew they weren’t completely closed. He prayed that he’d have enough strength to pull off this last stunt.

He could see the gleam of a silver sword in the air below him, could see the moment the life left Alastair’s body. The dragon sort of just… fell. His shoulders gave out, his body twisting sickeningly to make up for the wind that was surely pulling at his wings. As Castiel watched, Alastair began to fall, his wings limp and lifeless and his tail flailing around like an untethered rope. A little way above the fallen dragon’s plummeting body, a limp, rag doll-like form fell with him.

Castiel’s gaze zeroed in on the shape of the falling human, his blue eyes glowing with fire. He tilted his chin up, flattening his horns to his neck. His frill and wings were pressed tight to his body, his limbs crunched as small as they would go. Even his tail, with the little flaps that would usually guide a dive, were flattened to a spear-point. At the moment, he was as much in a free-fall as Dean and Alastair’s body.

With the help of tiny propulsive thrusts from his tail and the fact that he was more streamline than the limp human, Castiel was catching up to Dean’s falling form. He was close enough to be able to see the limp quality to Dean’s limbs, the way the wind seemed to whip him around. He was passed out cold. His leg was trailing blood, crimson droplets that splattered Castiel’s face and wings as he barreled past. The dragon slitted his eyes, trying not to think of the liquid that ran in trickles along his face and off his horns.

He was closing in now. The ground was getting closer and closer. They were fast approaching the point of no return, where Castiel wasn’t going to be able to recover from how rapidly he was descending. He willed himself to go faster, to gain more ground on the limp form of the human just in front of him. 

Alastair’s spiked tail whipped past, nearly clipping Castiel’s left side. The Dragon King's enormous corpse was becoming a very real danger. Still, despite the flailing wings and spiked tail, Castiel dared not maneuver out of the way, lest he lose the proximity and speed he had gained. He was getting unbearably close to Dean now, and even closer to the place where he wouldn’t be able to stop them from smashing into the ground.

Gods, Dean was so close. He was right in front of Castiel’s face, mere feet from the dragon’s snout. Castiel focused all of his being on the unconscious human right in front of him, on the space that was gradually getting lesser and lesser between them.

As they passed the first spires of the castle, moving faster than Castiel had ever gone, the dragon made his move. His right arm reached out, claws jerking closed around the melted material of Dean’s armor. The second Dean’s body was safely cradled in his claws, Castiel flared his wings, releasing a howl of pain as his shoulder injury was torn open even more by the force of the wind that suddenly rose to snap his wings wide open. The flaps of leather between the wing-joints tented unbearably tight. For a moment, Castiel was sure his wings were going to snap like a boat’s sail in a hurricane.

They were still falling way too fast, enough that Castiel’s dragon-enhanced bones would surely shatter on impact. He flared his tail and angled it, attempting to at least redirect their crash, because that was what it would be. Castiel didn’t have the strength to land gracefully. They were going to crash-land, whether he liked it or not. The most he could do was curl around Dean’s body and hope for the best.

He angled for the canal he and Dean had ridden by on their horses, still moving faster than a speed that was anywhere near safe. Castiel knew it wasn’t nearly deep enough to keep them both safe, and that the water would feel like concrete at this speed, but he had to try his best. The water was their only hope of surviving, at this point.

As they neared the canal, the light of the stars and the moon glinting off the surface, Castiel put the last vestiges of his strength into opening up his wings and tail all the way. He could feel the immediate slowing of their descent, the tearing of the injury in his shoulder. He roared a blast of fire in desperation, his tail skidding against the canal. Milliseconds later, his body was being broken open over the rock-hard surface of the water.

The last thing Castiel’s conscious mind could come up with was _save Dean!_

The return to consciousness was sudden and painful.

Castiel woke with a sudden jerk. He found himself flat on his back, wings spread out underneath him like a pool of ink. His back and leg felt like fire, his entire body wet and cold. He blinked his eyes open slowly, groaning, and heard a sob above him.

“Cas, oh gods, I thought you were-Cas, you were- _Cas_.”

Castiel opened his eyes slowly, amazed to find Dean kneeling over him.

The prince looked like hell. His handsome face was ragged and bloody, his skin pale. His green eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears, underscored by dark shadows. A blood vessel must have burst in one of them, because there was a dark red splotch overtaking the left iris. Dean had scrapes and bruises all across his cheekbones, and his hair was flattened to his head by water. He was smiling, though, tears streaming down his face.

“Dean?” Castiel rasped.

Dean sobbed and nodded, face crumpling. He leaned forward shakily and pressed his too-warm forehead against Castiel’s shoulder. “Gods, Cas, I thought you were dead,” he sobbed, voice absolutely destroyed, whether from screaming or choking on water, Castiel didn't know.

The dragon groaned, shoving himself up onto his elbows. It made his back scream with pain, but he _had_ to understand what was going on. He stared around.

They were on the bank of the canal. He must have shifted forms while unconscious, and Dean must have dragged him out of the water soon after. To the left, Lawrence burned. To Castiel’s right, Dean knelt, still crying with relief.

Castiel reached toward Dean and smoothed a shaking hand over the prince’s damp hair. “Shh, treasure,” he rasped. “It’s okay. Is Alastair dead?”

He knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from Dean. The human sniffled and nodded against Castiel’s shoulder pad. The dragon was still wearing the armor he’d put on before he’d shifted forms. His injuries seemed to have transferred to his human body, hot underneath the cold press of armor.

“I k-killed him, Cas. Dug my sword right into his n-neck,” Dean whispered. He raised his head a little to look at Castiel with wide green eyes. “He’s dead. We did it.”

For a moment, Castiel could only smile at the human next to him. The precious, beautiful, brave, _incredible_ human next to him. “Yes, Dean,” he choked out. “We did it.”

Dean gave a soft little sob, curling his body closer to Castiel. The dragon attempted to sit up fully, his back aching painfully. It was hard. His muscles were weak and shaky. He was absolutely exhausted. Still, he managed to get to an upright position, his wings a waterlogged mess behind him. Once up, Castiel groaned, reaching a tentative hand around his torso, under his armor, to feel at his wounds. From what he could tell, Alastair’s fire had cauterized the worst of them. They hurt terribly, but he didn’t seem to be in danger of bleeding out, for now. That, at least, was a small blessing.

Dean, it seemed, was not that lucky.

“Dean, you’re bleeding,” Castiel rasped, a little panicked as he took in the pool of crimson that was slowly beginning to spread. The wound in Dean’s thigh was still pumping blood sluggishly. The prince’s skin was pale and clammy to the touch, a sure sign of blood loss. “Dean.” Castiel grabbed the human by the shoulders and shook him. “ _Dean_.”

Dean moaned a little, blinking at him. His eyes were glazed with tears and fever, unfocused and terrifyingly blank. “Huh?”

“Dean, look at me. Tell me a story,” Castiel commanded. He turned, scanning the burning city. Fuck. That was not good. There was no way he could drag Dean back to the city. He barely had enough strength to sit up. Dean was nearly dead with blood loss, delirious and obviously in a huge amount of pain. Neither of them were going to get anywhere. With the state of the city, there was no way anyone was coming for them anytime soon.

“Aaaa… A story? I can tell you a storrry,” Dean slurred. He gave Castiel a bright grin. “If I do that, willlll you kiss me?”

Castiel swallowed past his tight throat. “Sure, Dean. Of course.”

Dean blinked at him, giving him an even wider smile. “Awesome. Okayyyy… Lemme think a little.”

Castiel nodded, beginning to unstrap his armor. He yanked off his breastplate, wincing in pain as he tossed it to the side. His back was an expanse of fire and agony. Every movement sent jolts of pain through his entire body. When he moved too fast, he had to pause and wait out the waves of nausea that threatened to overtake him.

Castiel yanked off the top layer of clothes he’d been wearing, leaving only a shirt and the undershirt Dean had loaned him that morning. The clothing he’d torn off, he used to wrap tightly around the wound on Dean’s leg, drawing a scream of pain from the human.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, wincing. That scream would haunt his nightmares for the next month. Dean was crying again, his easy drunkenness from before all but gone.

“Cas?” Dean choked out. He sounded coherent, his words only slurring slightly. “Cas, _gods_ -“

He leaned over and vomited.

Castiel winced, reaching out to support Dean’s body as he trembled through the sickness. He had no doubt the vomiting was purely from pain, but he couldn’t help but take account of how hot Dean’s skin was. “You’re okay, Dean. It’s okay.”

Dean finished puking and collapsed against him, exhausted and weak. Castiel caught him with a grunt, eyes slipping closed as he wrapped his arms around his trembling human.

Listening to Dean’s shaky, pained breathing, Castiel forced himself to face the fact that they might die here, on the bank of this canal. That they might take their last breaths on the ground, bleeding out in each others’ arms instead of in the fiery blaze of glory that Castiel had anticipated. His wings came up to weakly drape themselves around Dean’s too-hot body, to fold the human tighter against Castiel as his leg slowly bled past the makeshift tourniquet the dragon had made.

“You were very brave, Dean,” Castiel whispered, kissing the soft strands of Dean’s hair.

“You too, Cas,” Dean slurred, pressing his face into Castiel’s chest. It made Castiel’s heart warm and ache at the same time. “‘M sorry. Sorry it… Sorry he hurt you. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Castiel said, squeezing Dean as tight as his fading strength would allow. “It’s alright. We both fought together. We knew the consequences.” He was silent for a moment, wings still tight around Dean. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

Dean didn’t respond to that, but Castiel could feel the way he pressed closer in answer. After a moment of silence that was filled only by the rush of the wind and the sound of ragged breathing, Dean spoke. “I n-nnneveerr told you that storrry.”

“If you’d like, I could tell you one,” Castiel replied, heart aching.

“Okay,” Dean whispered.

Castiel kissed the top of his head, shivering in the wake of the wind coming off the canal. The city was burning, the light of it turning the night sky orange. On the canal bank, Dean’s blood was beginning to spread. Castiel reached down and pressed a hand against the wound, covering Dean’s hiss of pain with the beginning of his story. “Once, there was a dragon." Castiel had to pause to clear his throat. He managed it, but his voice was still raspy and thick with tears when he spoke again. "He was born different than the other dragons. When he was young, he was shunned for things he couldn’t control. In an attempt to fit in, he made himself a weapon.” Castiel felt his wings shift in the cool breeze coming off the canal. It carried the smell of smoke and destruction. Part of Castiel suddenly hoped that Dean was too out of it to realize that it was his city that was burning. Dean had suffered enough. He didn’t need that to worry about too. “The dragon became the best flier in his entire legion. He learned different fighting styles to make up for where he was lacking. And he made up for his awkwardness and strange empathetic tendencies by being extra brutal on the battlefield.

“The dragon felled many cities. He was a cold, ruthless killer. He wanted to be like every other dragon, wanted to be accepted and loved by his fellows. He thought being cruel and bloodthirsty would make him fit in." Castiel paused. "I suppose… I suppose in a way, it did. So the dragon lived for hundreds of years as an emotionless, heartless killer.” Castiel took a shaky breath. His voice broke in the middle of the next sentence. “Then he… he met a human.”

Dean shifted against him, tilting his head up to blink sleepily, lovingly, as Castiel. His green eyes are hazy again, glassy with pain and fever. They reflected the stars beautifully. “Then what?” he asked quietly.

Castiel swallowed, giving the green-eyed man a shaky smile. “Then the human yelled at the dragon. He called him a coward. He took all of the dragon's insecurities and flaws and shoved them in his face." Castiel reached with a shaky hand to smooth Dean's drying hair out of his face. "The human also saved the dragon. He taught the dragon that it was okay to be different. That it was what was inside, what choices were made, that counted.” Castiel pressed his other hand tighter against Dean’s wound, feeling sickened by the slow pump of blood he could feel seeping through his fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was trembling. “The human taught the dragon other things, too. Like how to feel. And how to laugh. He taught the dragon the importance of pie, and showed him what true honor and bravery looked like.” Castiel blinked, and some of his tears broke free and slid down his face. “The human showed the dragon what it felt like to kill to protect those he loved. And that was the last, the most important thing. He... He taught the dragon to love.”

“Sounds like a pretty great guy,” Dean rasped quietly. He gave Castiel a drunken smile, green eyes hazy with pain. They seemed to clear for a moment as they met Castiel’s. The dragon had the distinct feeling that Dean was really seeing him, in that silent slice of time.

The dragon huffed a ragged laugh. “He _is_ a pretty great guy. And… And the dragon loves him very much.”

Dean gave Castiel a small smile, green gaze clear and bright for just a moment. He looked into Castiel’s eyes, light flickering in the gold depths of his green irises. “I love you too, Cas,” Dean rasped out. His voice broke halfway through, but it was still the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever heard. The dragon kissed his human tenderly on the forehead. Just before he pulled away, he heard Dean’s whisper. “You caught me.”

The dragon gave him a watery smile. “Of course,” Castiel replied softly. “I will always catch you when you fall.”

Dean’s eyelashes fluttered. It was obvious that he was losing his grip on consciousness, but he managed a last sweet smile before he passed out. Castiel gave a little sob, unable to hold it in, and pressed tighter on Dean’s wound. He knew it was a useless effort, but he had to try. He couldn’t believe they’d gone through so much, fought together so hard, to die on the bank of this canal. At the same time as Dean’s life fading, Castiel could feel his own leaving him slowly.

And while it was unbelievable to know that this was how he and the Righteous Man would end, Castiel wouldn’t have had it any other way. At least they were going to die together. Castiel would die holding the only thing he had ever truly, deeply loved in his arms. And that was okay. It was okay. It was going to be okay.

That was what Castiel told himself when he felt Dean go limp against him. It was what he told himself when his wings became too weak to even really embrace Dean anymore, when his grip on the bleeding wound on Dean’s leg loosened.

He was still thinking that when the darkness rose up to consume him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't give it to you that easy!
> 
> Before you threaten to kill me, just remember that there's one chapter left. ;) I await your predictions and death threats in the comments.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I'll see you on Sunday for the last hoorah! :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finale has arrived.
> 
> Before we get to it, I want to thank Phantom31615 for their amazing art, both in this chapter and in the last. If you missed it, you should definitely go check it out. I am absolutely in awe of the talent of the three artists who gifted me some of their artworks for this fic. It's amazing. Confused_SPN_Fan, Phantom31615, and The_Iron_Maiden, you guys are AMAZING. Love you!
> 
> Alright, that's all I have. Enjoy the final chapter! :)

**Twenty-Five**

Dean’s return to consciousness was gradual.

He didn’t know quite when he became aware of the fact that he was actually awake. Everything felt floaty and disorienting. His mouth tasted of ash and mud, as well as some horrible, bitter taste. Dean recognized that. It was the aftertaste that accompanied most of Rowena’s healing remedies. His throat was dry as a desert. When he swallowed, it ached painfully. His head was screaming at him, pounding like an anvil or a war drum. Mercifully, the rest of Dean’s body was fairly numb, only the faintest tingles of pain emanating from the direction of his left leg.

That changed the second he tried to move. Agony flared up in different parts of his body, his left thigh especially. If pain was a symphony, his leg was the lead singer, leading the crescendo of screaming wounds all clamoring for Dean’s attention and collectively demanding he stay completely still. He obliged that last one, not eager to feel anything like the pain he’d just experienced any time soon.

While he waited for the last waves of agony to ebb away, Dean worked on his eyes. His eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds. When he managed to pull them open for a fraction of a second, he could see that wherever he was was bathed in golden light.

His second attempt to open his eyes was more successful. He was able to keep them open, this time. A by-now-familiar sight greeted him.

The infirmary, bathed in mid-afternoon sunlight. The golden glow filtered through the windows set high up in the enormous room’s walls. It illuminated the rows and rows of beds, two of which were occupied by sleeping men and one by a woman who was quietly reading a book, left wrist encased in a cast. Everything was quiet, save for the normal noises of a castle in action.

Crap. Right. The castle.

Dean groaned and tried to move again. The same amount of pain greeted him as before, so he gave up on that for the moment. Instead of trying to sit up, he flopped his head to the right, trying to find the source of his comfortable, toasty warmth.

The most beautiful sight in the world greeted him.

Castiel was sleeping by Dean’s side again, arms wrapped tightly around him. This time around, he had bandages wrapped tightly around his bare torso. There were some on his wings, too. The left wing as folded neatly behind Castiel, who was laying on his side. His right wing was carefully draped across Dean’s body, as if someone had kindly arranged them that way when they had both been unconscious. Castiel’s left cheek rested on Dean’s right shoulder, his face calm and peaceful in sleep.

Gods, he looked beautiful.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” a slightly awkward, feminine voice greeted.

Dean turned his head and found a pretty brunette standing next to him. She wore the uniform of a healer, her dark hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She smiled at him, her eyes flicking once to the dragon sleeping at his side.

Dean squinted. He knew her. She looked… familiar. He knew the names of pretty much everyone in the castle, so it wouldn’t be too hard to-ah! Her name was Eileen. Eileen Leahy. She was a deaf healer, from another kingdom that was farther west. A dragon had taken her hearing when she was just a child, as well as her parents, her home, and most of her friends.

Dean’s hand twitched in an attempt to sign a question to her. His knowledge of hand-language was miniscule. It was Sam who really knew about it, the nerd. Though, Dean suspected the only reason he knew so much was so he could have long conversations with Eileen. His little brother was romantic like that.

She reached out and put a cool, delicate hand on his, shaking her head. Dean frowned, watching as she reached for a piece of parchment. A stick of charcoal sat next to it, and she handed both to him.

Ah, that made sense.

Dean slowly, shakily wrote out his question. _What happened?_

Eileen gave him an understanding smile, them pointed at Castiel. She pointed at Dean, then mimicked something falling. “The guards said you fell very far. Very far. Sam found you on the bank of the river. He’s very brave.”

Dean snorted at the look on her face. _Yes, he is_ , he wrote out. _Did he take us to the castle?_

Eileen nodded, then pointed at Dean and Castiel once, each. “Misery healed you.”

_Misery?_ Dean frowned, a little lost, until he realized that she was talking about _Missouri_. That made sense. He nodded, then wrote, _How long?_

Eileen held up three fingers. She swept her arm in an arc, mimicking the sun’s path across the sky, no doubt. Three days. Shit.

Dean reached up to shakily run his fingers through his hair, ignoring the scream of sore muscles and pulled injuries. He pointed to Castiel, shakily writing out, _Okay?_

Eileen gave him a gentle smile and nodded reassuringly. She patted her back, made a wincing face, then smiled serenely again. “He will be okay soon.”

Dean gave her a grateful, relieved smile. _Thanks_ , he wrote.

She gave him a nod, then gestured at the door. “I need to find Misery. I’ll be back,” she promised.

Dean gave her a nod. He wrote out, _Sounds good_ , then handed the paper back to her. Eileen set the parchment and charcoal back on the bedside table, gave him a little wave, and stood to walk away.

As soon as the door slipped shut behind her, Dean turned his head to find soft blue eyes watching him. “She speaks strangely,” Castiel remarked quietly. It wasn’t a cruel or demeaning comment, just an observation. Dean tapped his ears in response, hoping the dragon would understand what he was trying to convey. Castiel frowned a little, then brightened. “She can’t hear?” Dean nodded vigorously. Castiel looked impressed now. “That’s incredible.”

Dean gave a hard nod. It really was. Eileen was one of the strongest women he knew. She could kick his ass in knife-throwing any day. And in archery, she could probably beat Sam with her eyes closed.

He put his hand back on the sheets, resting over his stomach. He was exhausted, just from the effort of gesturing and making faces. Castiel seemed to notice. He rested a hand over Dean’s, his palm large and warm. 

“Rest, Dean,” the dragon rumbled. “I’ll explain to Missouri. When you wake again, I can tell you everything.”

Sleep sounded nice. Castiel handling everything felt nice. Dean gave a pleased huff and curled as close to Castiel as his body would allow, which wasn’t too much, but still better than nothing. Castiel met him the rest of the way by pressing them together with his wing, the gesture simultaneously protective and possessive. If Dean had been able to speak, he would have grumbled about territorial dragons. As it was, all he could really do was curl up and close his eyes, basking in Castiel’s warmth.

He was asleep in moments.

The basic understanding Castiel had of the situation was that Sam Winchester had knocked out Benny Lafitte, the Captain of the Guard. Apparently, Benny had been tasked with protecting the prince, which meant keeping him from leaving the underground bunkers while the dragon fire was still raining down. Sam had knocked out the big blond man, along with a substantial amount of other guards, then escaped the bunker. He’d gotten to the surface just in time to see Castiel and Dean go down in the canal, and he’d gone immediately to grab his horse, Charger. With the help of a few guards he’d threatened at knifepoint, Sam had gone out in the middle of a firestorm to find Castiel and Dean. 

The rescue party had gotten there just in time. Castiel was half-dead with exhaustion, and Dean was nearly bled dry. For hours afterward, the human had fought a raging fever as well as hypovolemia, which Castiel understood was a sort of shock a human could go into if they didn’t have enough blood.

Dean had pulled through, though, and he’d been placed in the same bed as Castiel to rest and recover under the watchful eyes of the healers of the castle. Sam Winchester was forgiven for the injury of several guards and the threatening of quite a few others. Castiel had a feeling it wasn’t too hard to forgive the young prince anyway. Especially since his original intention had been to save Dean in the first place.

All of this, Castiel relayed to a sleepy Dean. When Dean woke fully, Bobby Singer came in to explain the situation regarding the city.

“I’m not gonna lie, boys,” Bobby said gruffly, rubbing at his beard. He sighed. “It’s rough. Half the city is destroyed, and the other half has sustained some sort of fire damage. Those bastards did their job well.” He eyed Castiel. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Castiel replied calmly. “Will the city be able to recover?”

Bobby sighed, shifting on the chair he was seated on at their bedside. “Yes, but it’ll take time. The bodies are probably the most daunting task we have.”

“The bodies?” Dean asked, frowning.

“Yeah, the dragon bodies,” Bobby replied, wincing. “They’re massive. And there’s five of ‘em. We managed to kill ‘em with with catapults and such, but we didn’t account for how to actually get ‘em _out_. We’ve got nothing strong enough.”

“I can handle that,” Castiel replied.

Dean frowned at him. “No, you can’t. You’re hurt, dumbass. Besides, I highly doubt you can lift an entire dragon by yourself.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, about to challenge Dean’s faith in him, when Bobby sighed. “He’s probably right, Dragon Castiel. We don’t want you to strain yourself, anyhow. We’ll figure it out. Maybe cut up the bodies, though that’ll leave an ungodly mess.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t you idjits worry your heads ‘bout it. We’ll take care of it.” He smiled kindly. “You’ve done enough, trust me.”

He left soon after.

Despite Bobby’s assurances, the dragon bodies weren’t cleared from the city by the time two weeks had passed. They’d begun to rot, making repairs anywhere within half a mile absolutely miserable. Dean was half-tempted to just get up out of his stupid hospital bed and try something himself, maybe with Cas’s help, when the answer came to them.

The answer literally came to them. Like, it flew over the mountains and landed just outside the walls, tucking three sets of wings behind its back. 

“DRAGONS!” someone screamed one morning, two and a half weeks after the initial fight. Dean jolted awake in Castiel’s embrace, groaning in pain. His injuries had healed a great deal, but they weren’t completely gone. His leg, especially, would take a while longer. Castiel, with his advanced dragon healing, was nearly good to go.

“What is going on?” Castiel grumbled, grumpy at being woken so early.

“Dragons,” Dean whispered, sliding to get out of bed. They’d been waiting in quiet anticipation of retaliation for a long time. It seemed the dragons were finally sending their answer to the killing of their king.

In his panic, he forgot his injury temporarily. It made itself known the second he tried to stand, agony flaring up in a line of fire.

“Dean!” Castiel shouted, at the same time as Dean’s loud curse. The dragon cursed as well, throwing himself out of bed to drag Dean up off the floor. “You assbutt. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“Cas, the _dragons_ are here,” Dean argued, already fighting to shove himself past the dragon. “I gotta go.”

“You need rest. Bobby will take care of it,” Castiel replied, shoving the human back into bed.

“What if they try to kill him, Cas?” Dean demanded, fighting the hands that tried to tuck him back into bed. At that, Castiel paused, allowing Dean time to fight him off and sit up. The prince’s chest was heaving, barely concealed panic flickering in his eyes. It caused Castiel to stop and put a soothing hand on Dean's shoulder. The amount of tension that drained out of the human at that simple touch was beautiful.

“Fine,” Castiel said quietly. “We’ll go. But I’m carrying you.”

He was expecting Dean to argue, but the human merely nodded tersely. “We need to hurry.”

Castiel had half a second to slide Dean onto his back before their door was being shoved open. The blond female guard, Jo, poked her head in. She looked out of breath and panicked. “Dean, Dragon Castiel-The dragons, they’re outside the wall.”

“How many?” Dean questioned, looping his arms around Castiel’s neck. Castiel’s wings folded backward to support him and protect him, acting as a sort of shell to keep him safe.

“Three,” Jo panted, breaking into a little trot to keep up with Castiel’s fast pace as they left the infirmary and began to hurry through the halls. “They’re big.”

“What color?” Castiel barked, rounding a corner and nearly smacking into a sprinting servant. Jo swerved around them, still panting a little with how fast they were moving.

“One of them is gray, I think. The other two are red.”

“What _kind_ of red?” Castiel bit out. “I need specifics!”

“Uh, like, ash gray? And rust red, and then some sort of maroon color-" Jo cut off as she ducked out of the path of two guards running past, carrying armfuls of swords. The castle was alive with preparation for what could possibly be another battle. It made a sick feeling swirl in Castiel’s stomach.

“Maroon? Gold highlights?” he asked, swerving around a corner and nearly tripping down the flight of stairs that greeted them. Dean hissed a curse in his ear, obviously just as caught off guard.

“I don’t remember,” Jo groaned. “I didn’t get a good look. They didn’t look mad, but dragons don’t really have human expressions. At least, not in dragon form. Obviously, you-"

“I understand,” Castiel interrupted. He was panting lightly. “How far are we from the courtyard?”

“Through that door,” Jo breathed, pointing ahead. Castiel didn’t recognize it, so he supposed this was a smaller, less grand entrance to the courtyard. That was fine. Any path would do.

They broke through the wood door, the handle cracking against the stone wall and bouncing back as Jo threw it open. She peeled off to the side as Castiel carried Dean out to the center of the courtyard, her dark eyes wide. 

“You sure your wings can handle this?” Dean asked quietly, watching as some of the people sprinting across the courtyard began to give them some space, recognizing Castiel’s black and blue wings.

“I’ll be fine,” the dragon replied. “Come on.”

He shifted on a single thought, body numbing and tingling as his form grew bigger. Anyone who hadn’t noticed them before did now, some of them skidding out of the way with a cry. Despite how urgent the current situation was, some humans still found time to stop around the edges of the courtyard and stare as Castiel flared out his wings.

Castiel knelt as soon as he was finished changing. Dean threw himself over Castiel’s back, his movements only slightly stiff. Castiel resolved to go as smoothly as possible. He knew Dean’s leg was still injured, and he didn’t want the human to have to work too hard to stay on. His tail angled instinctually as he sensed the direction of the wind.

“Go, Cas,” Dean said above him.

Castiel launched into the air. 

The morning air was brisk and cool against his scales. His shoulder ached slightly as he pumped his wings in an attempt to gain altitude, but it wasn’t too bad. Just a reminder, really. As long as Castiel didn’t get re-injured and didn't try to fly too much, he’d probably fine. As it was, it didn’t look like that was going to be a very good plan. The presence of three foreign dragons at the walls almost guaranteed a fight.

Castiel pounded his wings hard, heading for the northern wall. He couldn’t see any dragons yet, but he figured he’d spot them once they got closer. That proved to be a wrong assumption, however, as Castiel swooped over the wall and saw nothing.

“On the ground!” Dean shouted from his back. “They’re humans.”

Castiel’s sharp eyes scanned the ground. He found that Dean was right, and that there were three people facing a group of guards, wings tucked neatly behind their backs. Castiel dove straight toward them.

He landed with a thud that was probably harder than it needed to be. The snarl and bout of fire he roared into the air wasn't exactly necessary either, but he didn’t care. He was being threatening, warning, _territorial_ , because for some reason he felt responsible for this kingdom. He bared his teeth into a snarl, even as he realized who was staring at him.

Anna held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Castiel, please. We’re just here to help.”

The young man in the middle fluttered his gray wings. “Yeah! We heard that you killed Alastair and we were _so_ exci-“ 

The rust-winged dragon, whom Castiel recognized as Inias, shut Samandriel up before he could say anything more. It didn’t stop faint amusement from twisting Castiel’s snout, or his wings from lowering slightly as he realized that these three dragons weren’t here to attack.

“You’re here to help _how?_ ” Dean questioned from Castiel’s back. Anna’s eyes flicked up to the prince, something warming on her face. She gave him a bright smile.

“Hello, Righteous Man,” Samandriel called up. He gave Dean an excited wave. Inias was smiling too, though he only gave Dean a respectful nod.

Dean was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was warm with embarrassment. “Uh, hi. I don’t-can you… Just tell me why you’re here.”

“Of course. We’re here to help,” Anna replied. Her gaze flicked back to Castiel. She gave him a knowing smile. “We heard that your city was wrecked, so we brought friends. We figured it was a good way to begin peace negotiations.”

She gestured behind her, and Castiel raised his eyes. For the first time, he noticed the dragons hovering in the air and hiding in the nearby forest. They all looked fairly nervous, some of them hiding behind trees and rocks. He recognized many of them. His chest ached with something he couldn’t name at the sight of all the dragons who had come to help.

“Yeah,” Dean said from his back, sounding as choked as Castiel felt. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Anna smiled warmly. “Great. Then let’s begin.”

With the help of the dragons who came to help, the repairs on Lawrence went much faster. Not only were they able to drag the dead bodies away, they were also able to break and transport huge quarries of stone. The dragons also melted down metal for new foundations, and some of the smaller ones helped haul water and lifted humans to hard-to-reach places. Overall, when they weren’t accidentally stepping on something or terrifying the humans without meaning to, the dragons were fantastic.

What were even better were the peace negotiations. Some of the leaders of the dragon kingdom came to negotiate with Dean and Castiel. Dean would never forget the look on the face of the elegant golden one, Michael, when he saw Dean and Castiel standing beside each other, holding hands. Dean thought Castiel enjoyed it too.

Peace negotiations lasted four weeks. In that time, Lawrence was rebuilt bigger and better than before. The dragons who were willing carried particularly brave humans as messengers to call off the legions that were fighting in far-off fronts. Within two months of the death of Alastair, the war was pretty much over.

Castiel told Dean privately that he was surprised by the amount of dragons that supported the end of the war. Dean answered by saying that everyone was tired of the bloodshed. It would be nice to enjoy the peace between them for the first time since anyone remembered.

With peace came rest, and with rest came healing. Castiel had a large scar on his left shoulder, something that Dean assured him was ‘sexy as hell’ and ‘really fucking cool’. Castiel didn’t particularly care either way, but if it made Dean happy, he was fine with it.

Dean wasn’t so lucky. His leg healed, leaving an enormous scar that twisted the thick muscle of his thigh. It made it hard for him to walk sometimes, particularly when it was really cold or when he’d been using his legs a lot. It was frustrating for the human sometimes, but Castiel assured him that he was no less of a warrior because of it. If anything, the scar served to make him seem even more intimidating.

Despite his scars and his achievements, Dean was far from a brutal king. He was a refreshing contrast to his father. When four dragons came in human form to deliver Alastair's crown of horns to him, he promptly ordered them to take it and throw it into Syphon's volcano. Castiel would never forget the wonder in the younger dragons' eyes as Dean gestured at the horns mounted on the walls along the throne room and told them they might as well burn those too. It was the beginning of the first peaceful relations between dragons and humans since the dawn of time.

Dean mounted Lawrence’s throne on the autumn equinox. The day Crown Prince Dean Winchester became King Dean Winchester of Lawrence, dragons and humans rejoiced. They danced together in the Great Hall, the walls bare of dragon horns and weapons, humans and dragons drinking and laughing together like there were no differences between them. Dean opened the gates of Lawrence to dragons who wanted to live among humans. While some other human kingdoms were calling him insane and even psychotic, others thought he was exactly what the world needed after a war such as the one they'd just ended.

Castiel agreed.

While everyone was celebrating Dean’s coronation with dancing and feasting, Castiel and the newly-crowned king slipped away into the night. Castiel shifted behind the castle and flew them all the way to the top of Eden, where they’d sat many, many nights before.

“Stars look the same,” Dean remarked when he and Castiel landed. Castiel had to shift before he could answer, his dragon form shrinking as he slowly grew to a man around Dean’s size. When he was fully in his human form, he stepped up beside his king and looked up at the sky.

“Of course,” Castiel replied, shaking out his newly-human shoulders. “Why wouldn’t they?”

Dean snorted, sitting down on a rock. “Dunno. Just… Feels like so much has changed in so little time. It’s nice to see that some things stay the same.”

Castiel smiled, sitting beside him. The rock was cold and hard underneath him, but Dean was soft and warm when he wrapped a wing around his shoulders. The human leaned into his side, smiling at their closeness. “Do you know what else will always stay the same?” the dragon asked quietly.

Dean tore his eyes from the heavens to look at Castiel. “What?”

Castiel smiled softly at him. “My love for you.”

Dean smacked him. “Fucking sap.” Castiel pretended to be hurt for four seconds before he couldn’t handle it and just pulled Dean closer. They sat in silence for a moment, until a few moments later. Dean huffed, looking from the stars to Castiel, something shy on his face. “I’ll never stop loving you either.”

Castiel chuckled, kissing his temple. “I know.”

They didn’t speak after that. They didn’t need to. Castiel kept his wing wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, and Dean laced his fingers through Castiel’s. Silently, peacefully, the King of Lawrence and his dragon watched the stars pass overhead together.

They stayed like that for a long time. The silence was gentle and soothing, the only sounds coming from the wind and the soft breathing of the two beings sitting on the mountaintop. Tomorrow, they’d deal with the political side of their alliance with the dragons. Tomorrow, Castiel would face his family for the first time in years. Tomorrow, they would take on the challenges of running a whole kingdom, a whole new world.

And they’d do it together, just like they had always done, and just like they always would.

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always bittersweet, ending a long fic like this one. While I'm sad it ended, I'm also very grateful for every single reader who came along for the ride. Whether you were here from the very first chapter, or are reading this five years in the future, I want to thank you for being here. You guys seriously make writing a joy. I never could have imagined that a secret passion of mine could have grown to what it is now, and it's all thanks to this site and to you guys. Y'all are amazing.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope to see you soon with another long one! We'll see where my muse takes me. ;)
> 
> Love you guys!
> 
> ~Speed


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